Gareth took it and did as he was told, and they walked.
“I’m not gonna let you do it, Rye,” Cooper said, shifting gears from Gareth to his brother. “And before you start carrying on, don’t try to give me your normal line of shit about it being what’s best for the family. Mama or some of these young punks around here might buy into that nonsense, but you’re not about to convince me what you’re wanting to do here is right. It’s not. It’s the goddamn opposite of right.”
Gareth listened but played deaf.
Rye was prepared and well rehearsed; he’d practiced this sparring session all morning to an audience of trees from that squeaky rocking chair.
“Anything that takes the worry out of having to put food on the table is the right thing to do, Coop. It’s in our best interest to—”
“Oh, stop that shit, right now,” Cooper said. “You best have something better than that. We eat just fine around here. There ain’t nobody on this mountain starving. You sure as hell ain’t.” Cooper motioned to Rye’s belly.
Gareth let out a small chuckle and his father gave him a sharp smack to the back of the head. “You mind your business, boy.” Gareth went back to acting deaf and Cooper returned his attention to Rye. “The trees on this mountain have done right by our family for fifty years. Fifty years, Rye. I would think respecting that—protecting that—is what’s in our best interest. The idea that you done lost sight of that pains me deeply. You actually think selling off timber rights to land you were born on, to a bunch of goddamn bankers, is good for us? Well, that breaks my heart, Riley. What the hell happened to you? I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
“The money is more than we will ever see in a lifetime,” Rye said.
“And there it is.”
“Damn it, Cooper, listen to me for a minute. Stop being so damn self-righteous and just listen.”
Cooper spit.
“It will give our children, and our children’s children, something to build on: a future. You don’t seriously think we’re going to survive for the next fifty years runnin’ corn whiskey into the Carolinas?”
“We’ve done okay so far.”
“You’re not seeing the big picture, Coop. We should be doing better than okay. We should be working smarter, not harder. The stills ain’t bringing in what they used to. Drinking ain’t illegal no more. We can’t survive off the back-door bars and pool halls. The money’s drying up. I know you know this. It’s not the same business it used to be. The rest of the world is getting smarter, and we’re staying the same. The odds are against us. This deal with Puckett is going to be triple what we’d make in ten years of runnin’ shine. It’s a chance for our children to—”
“Hold up a second. You keep saying ‘children’ as if you got a dog in this race. The last time I checked, that boy right there was the only child on this mountain named Burroughs. You’re telling me you want to have a bunch of machines come in here and rape his mountain so he’ll have a better future?”
“Somebody has to look out for him.”
Cooper stopped walking.
“Deddy,” Gareth said, and tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Deddy, look.”
Cooper looked down to where his son was pointing, then bent over to pick up a small clump of black mud. He held it to his nose, and then held it to his son’s nose.
“Smell that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s fresh. We’re getting close. Be ready.”
They kept walking. After a few minutes, the conversation resumed, but with hushed voices.
“The money will strengthen the family, Coop. We can take the money and invest in legitimate businesses. We can stop living up here like outlaws. You have to see the logic in this. We can’t live like this forever.”
“I’ve got other plans.”
“What other plans? To plant that ragweed over by the north face?”
If Cooper was surprised that his brother was aware of his intentions, he didn’t show it. He just shrugged.
“Yeah,” Rye said, “I know all about it. I know everything that happens on this mountain. I have to. I also know that ridiculous idea will have us moving in reverse. Bringing that kind of business up here will only bring more guns, more law, and more strangers—worse than any banker. Is that what you want? Is that what you want for him?” Rye motioned to Gareth. “Besides that, what’s the difference between you clearing a few hundred acres to farm that shit or Puckett clearing it—legally?”
“Wake up, Rye. Do you honestly believe they’ll stop there? Do you really think we’ll ever be rid of them once they get their hooks in this place?”
“Yes, I do. That’s what they agreed to.”
For a moment all the anger and tension fell from Cooper’s face. He looked at his brother and then at his son. “It’s what they agreed to do?” he said calmly.
“That’s right,” Rye said.
“So that means you met with them already. You done hashed out terms.”
“Of course I did.”