Chapter 27: Whiskey and Shadows
The farm buzzed with energy as spring fully arrived, bringing warmth to the fields and a sense of renewal. The grain mill turned steadily, producing flour and meal for both the Clarke family and their neighbors. But Michael's mind was focused on his new venture—the distillery.
In the barn, Michael had gathered James, Abigail, and Thomas Turner to discuss the plan. Barrels, tools, and a few makeshift sketches were spread across a wooden table.
"Whiskey?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Michael's notes.
"Whiskey," Michael confirmed. "And maybe beer in the future. It's not just about selling grain—it's about creating something with more value. Something people will pay a premium for."
James folded his arms. "You sure about this? Running a distillery is a whole different beast from farming or milling."
Michael nodded. "I am. Marietta is growing. Settlers, traders, and even travelers will want a good drink after a hard day. We already have the grain. We can use the water from the stream for cooling and cleaning. All we need is the equipment and time to perfect the process."
Abigail leaned forward, studying the sketches. "And you think this will work?"
Michael met her gaze. "I do. But we'll need help. Thomas, would you be willing to invest some of your resources? And James, can we spare the manpower to get this started?"
Thomas stroked his chin. "If it works, it could be a good investment. I'll back you, but I want a share of the profits."
"Fair enough," Michael said, shaking his hand.
James sighed but nodded. "We'll make it work. But this better not take too much focus off the farm."
"It won't," Michael promised.
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The First Steps
Over the next few weeks, Michael and his team began building the distillery. They cleared a small area near the mill and constructed a simple shed to house the operation. They salvaged old copper pots and pipes from Marietta to create their first still.
David and Sarah helped where they could, carrying tools and fetching water. Abigail worked alongside Michael, her sleeves rolled up as she hammered planks into place.
"You're surprisingly good at this," Michael said, watching her drive a nail into the wood with precision.
She smirked. "I'm full of surprises."
As the still began to take shape, the group experimented with their first batch of whiskey. The process was slow and fraught with challenges, but Michael remained optimistic.
"It'll take time to get it right," he said, pouring a sample into a small glass. "But we'll get there."
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Shadows Return
The excitement of the distillery was dampened one evening when a messenger rode to the farm with troubling news. Silas Blackthorn's gang, thought to have been driven off during the winter, had been spotted near the settlement.
James read the message aloud, his face grim. "They've been raiding farms further north. Stealing supplies, livestock, and even setting barns on fire."
Michael clenched his fists. "We knew they wouldn't stay gone forever. They're too desperate."
Thomas stood. "We need to be ready. If they come here, we can't afford to be caught off guard."
James nodded. "We'll fortify the farm. Everyone needs to be armed and alert."
Abigail's face was pale, but her voice was steady. "What about the distillery? If they find out about it, it could make us a target."
Michael frowned. She was right. The distillery was valuable, and its destruction could set them back months.
"We'll keep it quiet for now," he said. "Only the people here and in Marietta know about it. If the gang gets too close, we'll dismantle it and hide the parts."
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Preparing for Trouble
The settlers worked together to strengthen their defenses. They reinforced doors and windows, dug trenches around the property, and set up lookouts.
Michael and Abigail took turns patrolling the area, rifles slung over their shoulders. On one of these patrols, Abigail broke the tense silence.
"Do you ever think about leaving?" she asked softly.
Michael glanced at her, surprised. "Leaving?"
"This land. The danger. There are safer places to live."
He thought for a moment before answering. "I've thought about it. But this place is worth fighting for. It's more than just land—it's our home. Our future."
Abigail nodded slowly. "I feel the same. I just—sometimes it's hard not to wonder if it's worth the cost."
"It is," Michael said firmly. "We're building something that will last. Something our children and grandchildren will be proud of."
She smiled faintly. "You always have a way of making me believe."
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A Warning in the Night
One night, as the family gathered around the fire, a rider approached in haste. It was Carter, the same man who had warned them about the raiders before.
"They're close," he said, breathless. "Blackthorn's men were seen less than five miles from here."
James stood, his face hard. "How many?"
"Too many to fight head-on," Carter replied. "But they're moving slowly, looting as they go. You've got time to prepare."
Michael turned to the group. "We'll need to act fast. Hide anything valuable. If they come, we'll make them think we're not worth the trouble."
As the settlers sprang into action, Michael's mind raced. The distillery, the farm, their alliances—it was all at risk. But he refused to let fear dictate their future.
"Let them come," he muttered under his breath. "We'll show them what we're made of."
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