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“Once they had the barrel on flat, dry ground, Hiram pried open the lid. The pungent air set free from the mess of fermenting corn smelled exactly like pineapples. Shine couldn’t fill her lungs up fast enough. She had only ever savored one of the strange, spiky-headed fruits—- for Christmas one year, a rare treat in these parts—- but she had declared it “divine.” That sweetness in the escaping air was a good sign.”

“But she relished everything about distilling day: the way the sun warmed her scalp through her hair on a midsummer’s morning, the sweet scent of delicate Carolina roses, the breeze full of birdsong—- bluebirds and orioles, crows and cardinals—- warning each other of the Strongs’ intrusion. But mostly she loved being with her father. Out here in the woods, he walked upright, moving with a freedom and purpose he lacked out in the field or in the barnyard. In those places, he seemed bent, bowed. Not like this tall, long-striding daddy who whistled the birds’ songs back to them, who taught her how to perfectly imitate their calls. It made Shine wish she favored him more—- but Elsie was blond and blue-eyed like Hiram and Rebecca got his length along with her mother’s dark hair and eyes. But I got his magic. She loved their secret, almost mystical spot and the idea that no one knew exactly where they were. Shine and her daddy were in their own world.”

“In the Strongs' case, Lidy taught Hiram everything he knew about making shine. A medicine woman of sorts, she often turned to tinctures for those seeking relief. Made with their homemade liquor, the elixirs could offer a much-needed calming effect at a certain dosage or serve as a painkiller in larger ones. As for special ingredients, she rarely made the same recipe twice. Lidy loved nothing more than tossing a bucketful of overripe peaches or the innards of a mushy melon into the corn mash. Or fermenting some fresh fruit in a batch of shine to make her hooch something special--- and giving those peaches or pawpaws a kick. Shine's daddy had followed suit. But they didn't speak of that extra "somethin'-somethin'" outside the family. You went to your grave with that shit. Or you might get put in it early.”

“Shine was a fast study, learning how to make anything and everything the thirsty crowd at the Southern Club might desire--- an old-fashioned, sidecar, gin rickey or Tom Collins. Drinks neat, straight up or on the rocks. Martinis that were dirty, extra-dirty or downright filthy. But she was at her best when she went off script. If someone answered her "What'll you have?" with "What's good?," Shine was off and running. She loved showcasing the Strong moonshine, with its smooth burn or fruity flair. And Shine often cut the standard spirits with sparkling sodas or fruit juices. The women who frequented the Southern Club loved her concoctions, so much more delicious to sit and sip than a cheap unadorned glass of hooch that hit your innards like a hot burning coal--- and was almost as tasty. Why just drink to get drunk when you could enjoy every swallow along the way? Shine calibrated the right balance of sweet, sour and salt in her creations, plus she knew how to finish, garnish and heighten a drink's appeal with a salute to Lidy: snippets of rosemary, thyme and basil; crushed mint; colorful slices of strawberries, melon and peaches; hot peppers and cool cucumbers along with the standard olives, lemons and limes. Plus, Shine had a certain charm. Who could resist being told by an attractive, flame-headed young woman to "stop swilling the cheap stuff" and "hang on to your hat" as she set down a cocktail she came up with especially for you? Everyone loved her. She was good for business. Very good.”