There's a Crowd building here...

Chapter 38: Brewing the Future

I woke to the sound of hammerin’. Not the lazy kind you hear from a fence repair, but the rapid clatter of eager hands, eager hearts. Out back, Once and Doce were already at it—measuring timber, sawing beams, putting up the basic frame of what was to be our second stillhouse. They weren’t fast, but they were meticulous, and with Lu overseeing the layout with a piece of chalk and a stern gaze, things moved along just fine.

By breakfast, the boys were already muddy, blistered, and grinning like fools.

“You sure they’re green enough for this?” I asked Lu, sipping my coffee under the porch eave.

She smiled, arms folded across her chest. “They might be green, but they’re mine. And they work harder than some grown men I’ve met.”

I chuckled. “Fair enough.”

After breakfast, I pulled Uno and Dos aside. “You two’ve been at this longer than anyone. It’s time you passed the torch a little. Those two new fellas—Once and Doce—they’re your apprentices now.”

Uno puffed out his chest. “So we’re like, brew bosses?”

“Not quite. Let’s stick with ‘brew mentors.’ You’ll show them the basics. What makes the mash sweet, what kills a batch, how to keep the lines clean.”

Dos raised a hand. “Do we show them the honey mix, or is that still a secret?”

I grinned. “Start with the plain corn mash. We’ll get to the fancy stuff later.”

The boys took to it like ducks to a creek. Before midday, they had Once and Doce elbow-deep in buckets of grain, talking water ratios and heat levels like old-timers.

I sat back and watched for a bit. Wasn’t long ago those two could barely hold a stir paddle without splashing half the barn. Now they moved with purpose, correcting posture, checking temps, smelling mash like it told a story.

Once, curious and quick, asked more questions than a census man. Doce, quieter, listened close and repeated everything back like a lesson. Different styles, same hunger.

I was proud. More than I’d expected to be.

That afternoon, Lu came over with her clipboard. “They’re good with the training,” she said. “But we need to think about next season. With a second still running, we’ll need more inputs. We’ve got a field and a half ready, but I was thinking hops again. And maybe rye.”

“Rye takes care,” I said. “Needs watching.”

“So do boys,” she said, nudging my shoulder. “You still took them in.”

I nodded, smiling. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The rest of the day was a mix of wood, sweat, and sour mash steam rising into the ever-blue sky. The sun hung low but never dropped, painting gold across the hills. By evening, the frame of the stillhouse was near done, the base poured and drying under tarps.

At dinner, the table was full—Lu at one end, me at the other, the boys loud in the middle. The smell of roast vegetables and fresh bread filled the room. I raised a mug.

“To good work, and better hands.”

They clinked mugs and cups and spoons. Once and Doce looked a little overwhelmed, but they smiled through it.

After the boys went off to clean up, Lu lingered. “You think we can keep this pace?”

I looked out the window, past the shadows dancing on the dirt, to the new still frame glowing in the last golden light. “If we keep growin’ careful and teachin’ right, yeah. I think we can.”

She leaned into my side, just for a moment. “Then let’s keep going.”

And we did.

CHAPTER 39 – Two’s Company, Ten’s a Crew

I never thought I’d be in charge of a crew big enough to field a baseball team, but here I was—sippin’ my coffee while ten catboys milled about the porch like mismatched socks. Some were oilin’ tools, others were jawin’ about who stole whose last slice of pecan pie, and Lu stood in the doorway like a general inspectin’ a scrappy army.

It was time for some structure.

“All right,” I said, clearing my throat. “Line up, you furry knuckleheads. I got announcements.”

They scrambled into a crooked row, Uno elbowin’ Dos, Seis squintin’ into the sun like it owed him money.

“Here’s the deal. We’re gettin’ too big for this ‘everybody-do-everything’ system. So I’m splittin’ us into two crews. Brewin’ and fieldwork. Uno through Quattro—you’re my brewers. You got your paws in mash, coils, and fermentin’ barrels. That means you train Once and Doce when they show. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Uno puffed his chest like I’d just knighted him.

“Cinco through Dies,” I continued, “you’re field crew. Tenders of the earth. That means tillin’, planting, harvestin’, all that dirty-finger work. You’ll keep the land fed, so it feeds us. That clear?”

Cinco grinned. “Can we still taste-test the liquor?”

“Only if you wanna hoe the rows twice,” I shot back.

They all laughed, but the shift in energy was clear. Pride. Purpose. Like they’d each been handed a name tag that said more than just Brother # Whatever.

Later that afternoon, Lu called a meeting under the big pecan tree. She didn’t ask if I wanted to join. Just gave me that look and nodded, which meant You’re part of this, cowboy. So I followed with a thermos of sweet tea and a plate of leftover pie.

“All right,” she said, smoothing her apron and standing tall like a preacher on Sunday. “This isn’t just a place we stay anymore. It’s a home. And not just a home—a business. A future.”

The boys quieted down right quick.

“If we’re gonna keep growing,” she went on, “we need more than sweat. We need systems. Schedules. Respect. And love—of the work and each other.”

Even Nueve, who usually doodled in the dirt with a stick, looked up and nodded.

“We’ll hold weekly meetings, review who needs help, and assign mentors. We’ll celebrate good work, and we’ll talk through problems before they turn into fights. And Ron—” she paused, “Ron and I are gonna start planning out rotations for downtime too. Rest matters.”

“Since when?” Dos whispered, and Quattro smacked the back of his head.

“Any questions?” Lu asked.

Dies raised his hand. “Do we still get pie?”

Lu cracked a grin. “Only if you keep your paws outta the fermenter.”

Meeting adjourned with laughter, and the boys dispersed, some to haul water, some to scrub mash tanks. I stayed under that pecan tree a moment longer, just watchin’ Lu gather her notes and brush dust from her skirt.

“You been thinkin’ about all this for a while, haven’t you?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away. Just folded the paper neat and tucked it in her pocket.

“I like order,” she said softly. “Chaos is good for stories—not farms.”

I took a breath, chewin’ over what I wanted to say next. “I always figured I’d die in a pile of hay or buried under a busted still.”

“You still might,” she smirked. “But at least now someone will know where to find the body.”

She started walkin’ back to the barn, and I trailed behind, my boots scuffin’ the dirt. Couldn’t shake the thought that kept pokin’ at me all day: she wasn’t just my cook, or housekeeper, or even my friend anymore.

She was my partner.

The kind of woman who could stare down a storm and then calmly organize a dinner roster. The kind who’d already drafted a schedule for training Once and Doce before I’d even noticed we needed one.

That night after dinner, the porch was quiet. Most of the boys were already snorin’ in the bunkhouse, bellies full and dreams likely flavored with corn mash and roasted squash.

Lu sat beside me in the rocker, a cup of tea in her hands. She’d braided her hair back, and moonlight shimmered on her cheek.

“Reckon you surprised me today,” I said.

“Only today?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

“I mean... I knew you were sharp. But you’ve got more sense than a whole county council. And more patience, too.”

She didn’t blush, didn’t scoff. Just sipped her tea and said, “You’re not so bad yourself, farmer.”

“Just tryin’ to keep up with the whirlwind I married—uh, work with,” I corrected, feelin’ my ears get warm.

She chuckled low and slow. “Freudian slip, Mr. Hosen?”

I shook my head, grinnin’. “Don’t go analysin’ me now. I’m just a man tryin’ to keep his boots dry.”

We rocked in silence for a spell, watchin’ fireflies blink in the distance and hearin’ the soft rustle of breeze through corn.

Lu leaned a little closer. “Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“I think we’re buildin’ somethin’ real here.”

I looked at her, then at the fields beyond, then back at her again.

“Yeah,” I said. “I reckon we are.”