Chapter Eleven

Rue

Dear Baby,

Are you in there? I wish I knew. The procedure was only three days ago so I have a little bit of time before I’ll know for sure. I hope that you are. Somehow, it’s like I can feel that things have changed. I think that I can feel you there. At least, I hope that I am.

The procedure wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it was going to be. It was incredibly awkward, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think that there is any way that anybody could go through something like that without it being awkward, especially considering I knew that Richard, your daddy, was sitting right outside in the waiting room. It went so fast, though, and the doctor was so gentle, I had to ask if it had actually happened and I was all finished. The one really good thing about us deciding to use my egg instead of another donor’s was that there was no need to do an extraction and go through all of that. The doctor just had me track my ovulation and then come in when it was time. That did mean that this all happened much more quickly than I think that I really had in mind.

I’m glad that it is done, though. I think that if it was to keep stretching on that my nerves would get the best of me. This way, the scariest part is finished. Well, maybe the second-scariest part. The really scary part is going to be taking the test to see if the procedure worked and you are actually in there. The doctor said that we’re waiting for implantation. Essentially, if you are in there right now, you aren’t snuggled up in place yet. So, if you are, stay safe on your travels and get comfortable soon. We’ll know in about a week.

The timing seems very appropriate. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I can’t think of anything that I would like to be more thankful for this year than to know that you are coming and my Grammyma’s home is safe and secure. I’ve been back in the house for almost two weeks now and I feel like I might be starting to get used to being here again. I think I’ve already told you that the house is in my hometown, a tiny little place called Whiskey Hollow, but now that I’m hoping that it will be your home for the next nine, almost ten, months, I thought that I would tell you a little more about it.

They say that the area got the name Whiskey Hollow when a group of convicts escaped from the chain gang by spiking the guard’s water bucket with the prison alcohol that they had made in their cells and smuggled to the worksite by soaking the cuffs of their shirts and then wringing them out into the bucket as they walked by. The alcohol was so potent that the guard was drunk after two gulps, gulps that must have been so big and fast that he didn’t even notice the taste, which I can’t really imagine was anything but horrible. Once he was teetering around, they got their chain slithering so it looked like a giant snake and confused the guard into trying to chase it, which just made him woozy. Soon he tipped over and ended up spread out in the middle of the road, letting the convicts steal his keys. They unlocked themselves and ran, ending up in a cute little valley pretty far from anything. At least, that’s what they thought.

The truth was that they had only just gotten over one hill and were only a couple of miles from the prison when they stopped. Even then, they probably could have gotten away with it all if they hadn’t decided that the liquor that they had given the guard was the greatest thing ever made and a gift from the Almighty. Unfortunately, this is what led them to deciding they were going to bless the world with as much of it as they possibly could and sent them into the moonshining business. Now, moonshine is one of those things that’s just going to happen around these parts. It just is. Some of it is pretty extraordinary. A lot of it isn’t. This wasn’t. The moonshine these men made might very well be the reason for lunar eclipses. But soon it was flowing through the valley and drawing people from all kinds of other little villages and towns who had been living dry and were ready to get a little damp.

Any time there is that much unregulated liquor going around, there is going to be some drama. Well, this drama came in the form of two of the original escaped convicts having a disagreement over the direction of their moonshining business. This turned into having words and that turned into one of them dancing naked on the roof of the old chapel that had been in those parts for goodness knows how long, twirling torches he had soaked in the most recent batch of his rival’s moonshine. The details of how exactly that happened are a little fuzzy, but what happened after isn’t. Once the man had been dancing for a while, the fumes of the moonshine torches got to him and he ended up falling off. The rest of the people who had started forming up the little village had no choice but to go for help and this meant that outsiders had to come in. The doctors came to scoop the man up and try to piece him back together and noticed that the whole place was full of moonshine. Like, seriously. Bathtubs. Buckets. The odd baby bottle. It was everywhere.

Of course, the police swarmed the place and started gathering up the escapees and the other moonshiners. Most of them went fairly easily considering they had been drinking in vigil for their fallen comrade. Literally fallen, not dead. He was pulling through pretty alright, though I hear that the fall caused a few injuries that made it far less likely that he was going to be doing any kind of naked dancing any time thereafter. A couple of those who were a bit more capable of handling their moonshine tried to fight off the posse, but all they had was a bunch of several-day old loaves of bread. They threw them and then tried to use them as swords. Clearly, this didn’t hold them off and the police had to take them in quite literally kicking and screaming. Around these parts, this is what’s thought of as the real Whiskey Rebellion. From then on, this little area was known as Whiskey Hollow.

The Hollow might not be quite that adventurous anymore, but it’s still got its color. The vast majority of the people who are born there, stay there. It makes for some interesting characters. I’ll try to tell you about them some other time. I don’t know how much I can really say without your parents getting upset with me. Maybe I’ll run some of the stories by them before I tell you. Maybe. At this point I’m still not sure if I even want either of them to see the Hollow. I don’t think they’d understand it. They might also worry about this being the first place that you call home, even if you’re contained safely within me and won’t have the chance to meet the likes of Sue Ellen Berry or Jeb Montaigne.

I’ll be thinking about you tomorrow. Christopher has been called home for Thanksgiving, which is completely strange since his parents have spent the holiday on a cruise for the last 10 years, so of course they would choose this year to decide to give Norman Rockwell a run for their money. Tessie and I were invited to join them, but frankly the stories I’ve heard about that family make the Hollow look calm and sophisticated, so I don’t think that I’m prepared to handle it. Instead, Tessie is supposed to come here, and we’ll eat and then usher in the Christmas season with some movies and approximately a gallon of egg nog. In honor of the potential of you, and since Christopher will not be there with us when the movies start, I won’t be adding any rum. Or moonshine for that matter.

I hope you enjoy the turkey, mashed potatoes, and dressing. Those are my favorite. I’ll slip a few peas in there, too, just for the vitamins.

Happy Thanksgiving Baby,

Rue