Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

As she stumbled toward him, he lifted the back of the garment and ran his hand up the inside of her legs and jammed it hard into her crotch. Hettie flinched. A little grunt escape her mouth as Ben Roy rubbed his hand back and forth between her thighs. He let the skirt fall back in place as he delivered a smack across her butt hard enough to push the unhappy woman against the edge of the round table.
    “Now, git,” he commanded as he looked around the table for player hits.
    The younger Thornton brother signaled for two card replacements while Alex stared at his own. Despite his poor poker-playing skills, he had to play it smart tonight. When Ben Roy trained his eyes on him, Alex discarded the three face cards and kept his pair of nines.
    “You either got a hell of a hand or you need help readin’ them cards like Wiley George.” Ben Roy stubbed out his cigar and tossed it in the spittoon.
    Alex picked up a jack, a seven, and a third nine. All Thornton eyes were trained on him. With his trio of nines he doubted he could beat a Thornton hand, but they were waiting for him to add to the pot. He reached back into his overalls pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. The thud it made as it crashed into the mound of bills was the only sound coming from him. If he’d learned one thing in twenty years of poker playing against Ben Roy, it was to keep a straight face and do almost no talking, no matter how hard his brother-in-law pushed.
    “Bobby Lee ain’t skimpy with his liquor. Take yo’self a drink, Alex.” Ben Roy dealt himself one card before his eyes scanned the table for new hits.
    Funny, Alex reminded himself, how Ben Roy’s flat, brown eyes looked just like Eula’s. Looking into them was like looking into the bottom of a dirty coal pail.
    As if by invitation, the belly-bulging down county farmer picked up his Mason jar and drained it empty. All in a pile, the farmer spread out his cards—two pairs—one of eights, the other of fours. The man clamped both hands around the empty Mason jar. Wiley George threw his cards on the table in disgust. A little grin started to play across the farmer’s face as he eased up on his grip of the Mason jar and leaned toward the mound of bills.
    “Well…” The broad-shouldered Thornton cousin drew out the word as though it had four syllables as he laid his cards on the table. Three sevens showed their faces.
    A grimace flickered across Ben Roy’s lips but disappeared. He turned down his cards. The younger Thornton brother reached for his own Mason jar. The down county farmer looked as though his prized sow had just been shot. Once again, all eyes at the table waited for Alex. He checked his cards again—a seven, a jack, and three nines still remained in his hand. Slowly, he spread them on the table.
    “I’ll be damned,” Ben Roy exploded, “if brother-in-law ain’t won a round.” He pushed the pile of money toward Alex while the older cousin scowled. “Hettie, gal, get yo’ ass in here.” Ben Roy pulled at the string dangling from his pocket and lifted out the packet of chewing tobacco. He pinched off a wad and popped it into his mouth.
    With as much casualness as he could muster, Alex slid the entire pile of money back to the center of the table. He needed far more than money this night. “Let it ride. Deal, Ben Roy.”
    As the playing cards circulated to the left, Alex studied each man trying to judge the best time to bring up the subject. Liquor was having its way, with Wiley George leading the pack. After losing the last hand, the down county farmer looked even more glum and desperate as he tapped at his empty glass. The Thornton kin still held sober enough heads. Ben Roy was the key to getting rid of Welles. The fifth card landed just beside Alex’s hand. He picked up all five. An ace, two queens, and two tens greeted him. He knew he already held a better than decent hand as he picked up his untouched Mason jar and brought it to his lips. He saw Ben Roy give him just the slightest nod of approval as the dealer scanned the table for hits.
    “Damn it to hell, Ben Roy. Can every goddam card you deal me be this bad?” Wiley George threw down four of his five cards.
    “Watch yo’ mouth.” Ben Roy’s younger brother looked out from under his sandy brows to warn his niece’s husband.
    “He don’t mean nothin’ by it. Wiley George is just havin’ a bad run of the cards. Can happen to anybody.” While the wide-shouldered cousin tried his hand at