Blue Shadows Farm: A Novel

49. Visitors—Summer 1920

Summer 1920 Abe’s former drinking buddies spent the winter discussing his potato beer and how it almost blew off the top of Noah Stringfellow ’s head when he tried it. A couple of them also heard about the explosions that went on for more than a month, at all hours of the day and night at the Starkweather place. People who heard the loud noises said they figured Abe was firing his shotgun at critters trying to molest his wife’s chickens. But those who knew about the potato beer surmised correctly that the overly active brew had simply exploded , sounding like a ten-gauge shotgun going off right beside your head. People who’d heard the explosions also wondered why Abe was firing his shotgun at three in the morning. Dr. Cleever said he had been out delivering a baby and drove by the Starkweather place about that time when he heard a shotgun go off—that’s what he reported anyway. The explosions at the Blue Shadows Farm became the talk of the town. If it wasn’t one thing about that place that sent tongues wagging , it was another. Many remembered Abe’s father and how he’d wandered around his plowed fields walking with his head down and 286 49 Visitors 287 Visitors—Summer 1920 his arms behind his back, apparently searching for arrowheads. When he wasn’t searching his fields, he was digging postholes and setting more fences. Always making fences, it seemed. Nobody had made as many fences as Silas Starkweather. And Abe, well, everyone knew him as one of several town drunks who avoided work at every turn and seemed committed to one harebrained idea after the next. People did say that his gravel-pit idea had paid off and earned him a tidy sum, besides providing a real service to the auto drivers in the community, who by now included just about everyone. Most of the local women had nothing good to say about Abe Starkweather. They remembered his drinking bouts and even more could not believe he opposed the right of women to vote. He spoke out against the Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution right up to the day it was ratified—August 18, 1920, and he continued to rail against it even after its passage. His behavior was unbelievable, especially considering both his wife, Faith, and his mother, Sophia, had been strong proponents of women’s suffrage. Why Faith put up with this man, no one could understand. She did the majority of the work and did it well, as Blue Shadows Farm had never grown better crops nor had a better herd of dairy cattle since she’d essentially taken over the operation. But Faith had another side that most people didn’t know about. She liked to have nice things: a nice house to live in, up-to-date furnishings, a good automobile , the best of everything. It took money to have these things, and she got a taste of the good life when Abe’s gravel pit brought in more money in a month than income from the milk cows did in a year. The story of Abe’s potato-beer experiment spread widely among those seeking an alternative to the golden liquid that they had come to love so much and was not now available since Prohibition had reared its ugly dry head—at least not legally available. Several men secretly tried various recipes for homemade brews, with varying degrees of success. Abe’s closest friends, although laughing at the volatile potato beer, encouraged him to try something else. After all, he had most of the necessary equipment in the locked room at the back of his potato cellar. “Nope, no more potato beer,” Abe said. “We don’t mean potato beer. Something else. You thought of moonshine?” one of his better-informed friends asked. “Thought about it. And that’s where it ended,” Abe said. He continued digging postholes, wandering his cultivated fields, and exploring every square foot of his gravel pit, which was little used these days. A few days after the comment from his friend, who told him he didn’t know how much longer he could live without a drink, a big black Packard pulled into Abe’s yard. The long black car had Illinois license plates and dark windows so you couldn’t see inside. Two men...