I woke that day, as I did every day, to the sound of singing. It was early, before the heat of the sun drained every ounce of energy from your body. It had been hot for weeks now. It was a dry, throat-catching heat that sapped all your strength and made it impossible to do anything except sit on the porch and listen to the sound of the house ticking as the Mississippi sun dried every last bit of moisture from the wood. The creek in the valley dried to a trickle, then nothing at all. Spiders scuttled into the cracks in the dirt road whenever anyone approached the house.
I opened the shutters and looked across the fields of cotton and maize. In the far distance anvil-shaped clouds formed; dark and threatening.
“It’s going to rain, Samuel,” I called as I pulled on my clothes and walked into the kitchen where Samuel was singing. I did not realise that the dark clouds on the horizon heralded not only an end to the drought but an end to everything I had known for most of my life.
“Sho’ is Masser,” he replied, wiping his huge calloused hands on a cloth and putting the skillet on the stove.
“I got coffee ready and eggs and pancakes in five minutes,” he said, flashing his white teeth in a broad grin. “an’ I got fresh syrup from the store yes’day.”
He motioned me to the table and poured my coffee then resumed his singing as he banged pots and pans in the kitchen.
“How’s the top well?” I asked as I sipped the scalding coffee.
“She dried up two days ago,” he replied, breaking eggs into the pan, “but the one in the bottom field, she still good for another day or so I reckon.”
“Let’s hope the rains come in time then Samuel.”
“If it don’t Masser you can tie me to a rope and send me down to dig it deeper,” he laughed, placing a platter of eggs and pancakes on the table.
“Now you eat that and I gonna make sure Liza-May’s ready for her schoolin. Den I gonna do some waterin in the top field in case dere aint no rain after all.”
*
Later, as I did the accounts and ordered corn and cotton seed, he passed by the house carrying water on a yoke that was balanced on his broad shoulders, his straw hat stained with the sweat of years and his eyes screwed up against the glare of the sun.
“I’ll look after you Masser,” Samuel had told me with tears in those dark eyes when my wife, Kitty, had died fifteen years ago. Just two years later his own wife had died in childbirth.
“I need you and you need me, Samuel,” I told him. “We are like kin now, because we know what sorrow is.”
I asked him to move in but he said that he was happy in the shack next to the creek where he had spent his life. He had been born there, he said, seen his pappy die there, raised his daughter there and become a free man there. When his time came he wanted to die there.
At six Samuel prepared my dinner and as he washed up he told me about the events of the day. How he had tended the flower beds and watered the lawn. He also passed on gossip he’d heard when he went into town to get supplies.
“Missy Susan say she was robbed by a negro boy yes’day night,” he told me as I ate beans and rice.
“Now how did she know it was a negro boy Samuel?” I asked.
“Cos she saw his footprints on the floor of the shop Masser. Negro boys don’ have no shoes like white boys, ‘cept on Sundays.
He threw his head back and his barrel chest shook as he laughed.
After dinner he changed into a clean shirt and stood beside me with his hat in his hands as I opened the cash box.
He placed receipts for the days provisions on the table and the money left over. He insisted that I count it to make sure it was right.
“I ain’t had no schoolin’ in numbers Masser,” he explained each day but it was always correct to the last cent. Then I would give him his days pay and his eyes shone as I counted out the worn dollar bills he insisted on.
“New ones is for white folk,” he explained as he folded the money carefully and placed it inside the brim of his hat.
I shook his hand and he smiled back at me. For some reason, I cannot explain why, I held on to his hand.
“You’re my family Samuel, the son I never had. When I die all this will be yours,” I said waving my hand around the room. He looked straight into my eyes, something his father would never have done, and thanked me.
“But we too young to die Masser,” he said, his eyes shining with pleasure. “Only sinners die young.”
He put his straw hat back on as he crossed the porch but, before going down the steps, he turned and smiled as he waved goodbye.
“’til tomorrow Masser. I sure it’s gonna rain tomorrow.”
I waved back, not realising that it was the last time I would see him smile.
*
The columns of cloud were bigger and closer the next morning. They rose like pillars into the blue sky; their bases black and threatening but the tops pure white, like the wings of angels. I could hear Samuel in the kitchen preparing breakfast but he was quiet, no singing accompanied the clatter of pans.
“See the clouds Samuel,” I called as I hurried into the kitchen. “No watering today.”
He turned and looked at me. His face was grave, drawn. His usually sparkling eyes were dull and red lined.
“Samuel,” I said touching his arm as he poured coffee. “What’s wrong?”
He just stood, coffee pot in his hand.
“Liza-May,” he said. “It’s real bad Masser.”
I pulled a chair to the table and for the first time in his life Samuel sat at the table with me.
“Is she ill? Don’t worry, I’ll pay for a doctor.”
“She not ill that a doctor can help Masser.”
“Then what? Tell me Samuel.”
He looked down at his hands on the table clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Yes’day, on her way home from school, a man Masser, he stop her, he been drinkin liquor.”
“What happened?” I asked as the blood in my veins turned to ice. “Did he hurt her?”
“He did things sir, terrible things.”
Tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
“The man?” I asked, my heart thumping in my chest. “Who?
Samuel looked at me.
“She only thirteen sir, only thirteen.”
He looked down at his hands again as I repeated my question.
“A white man masser that’s all I know, she wont say no more. Just says a white man did it. Won’t talk or wash or sleep, just sitting, staring.”
“Go get her Samuel,” I urged. “Bring her here. I’ll get the Sheriff, I know him well but bring her here first.”
Samuel got up and shuffled out of the door, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed.
*
A while later he returned with Liza-May. She was still wearing her school uniform but the pretty gingham dress was creased and dirty. She had dark shadows under her blank eyes. Samuel told her to sit at the table and she sat with her school satchel clutched to her chest.
I remembered the child who was always laughing and teasing her father. Who would hide from him in my house as he worked until he called her name and then she would appear from her hiding place and squeal with laughter as he chased her in mock anger.
I remembered her sweeping my floor and polishing the dresser and table until they shone and the house smelt of lavender wax. I remembered her singing the songs they taught her at Sunday School, her pigtails, her laughter.
“Make some tea Samuel,” I said and drew a chair nearer to hers.
Her eyes came to life. She shrank away from me clutching her satchel and looked at her father.
“No,” she said and reached for his hand.
“It’s okay Liza-May,” I said as I stood up. “I’ll make the tea and then we’ll talk.”
Samuel followed me into the kitchen.
“She scared sir,” he said apologetically.
“It’s fine Samuel, I understand. Did she know who the man was?”
“No masser, she just say a white man.”
“When she’s calmer we’ll get the Sheriff,” I told him. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Aint no good. The Sheriff a white man too,” he said looking at the floor.
“It’s not like that now Samuel,” I told him. “The laws are for black and white folk now.”
“She just need some time, she’ll be okay sir, no need for no Sheriff. The good Lord will look after her. I know it.”
We looked out of the window and saw Liza-May walking down the path her satchel bumping heavily against her legs.
“Go to her Samuel,” I told him. “Stay with her, talk to her, tell her that everything will be okay and that she’s safe now.”
As he left the house for the last time, the sky darkened and in the distance there was the rumble of thunder.
*
I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of that day. All I saw was Liza-May’s tear stained face and her father’s helplessness.
‘If only Kitty were here,’ I thought. ‘She’d know what to say.’
After lunch I sat on the porch smoking and thinking of Kitty and the children we longed for but never had. I thought of Samuel’s songs and Liza-May’s humming as she tidied drawers and cupboards. The sky darkened and flashes of lightning danced amongst the clouds but still the rain didn’t come. In the late afternoon I saw Samuel walking up the path to the house and got up to beckon him inside.
“No Sir,” he said breathlessly. “I can’t come into your house no more. I done a bad thing.”
He stood, shoulders hunched looking at the dust on the ground and as I came nearer he backed away.
“What happened?” I said as a cold fist gripped my heart. “Tell me Samuel, my son, my friend.”
“No Sir, no more, I evil man now.”
“Tell me.” I pleaded.
“He came to my house, the white man,” he said, still looking at the ground.
“He say he want some more. He say he got a taste for black pussy. He drunk plenty and he say he had money to pay for her.”
His tears fell like raindrops on the dry earth. I made to touch his shoulder but he moved away again. Words tumbled from his mouth as he raised his head and looked at me.
“I kill him Masser, I kill that white man. There outside my house, I kill him with these hands that never hurt a human soul.”
The fist that gripped my heart spread its icy fingers through my body.
“Are you sure?”
He looked down at the ground.
“I sure Sir. I saw the light go from his eyes but I never let go ‘til I hear his neck crack. He dead for sure.”
There was a flash of lightning and I saw them coming. Samuel saw them too and sank to his knees whispering a prayer. Three men on a buckboard, dust flying from their wheels, light shining on their rifles, white men.
I rushed into the house and opened the dresser drawer. It wasn’t there. I checked the other drawer, nothing. The cupboards, under clothes, everywhere. It was always there but now it was missing. Someone had taken my gun.
“No Samuel,” I shouted and ran outside but there was no-one there. I saw the buckboard nearing the end of the track, Samuel kneeling on the bare boards, head down, hands behind his back. Then they were gone.
It took me just a few minutes to saddle-up and follow them but I was too late. I found him in a clearing by the creek, near his house. His body still swinging. I reached up and undid his hands then untied the rope so that I could lower him to the ground. It was then I saw Liza-May. She was on the edge of the clearing. Her eyes wide and unblinking, her school satchel dragging her shoulder down.
“Go to the house Liza-May,” I shouted over the thunder.
I lowered Samuel slowly to the ground, took the noose from his neck and closed his dark eyes for the last time. There was a sudden flash of light but the sound that went with it was not thunder. In a heartbeat I realised why Liza-May’s satchel was so heavy.
*
I buried her in her father’s arms in the garden next to Kitty. The first huge drops of rain fell with the earth as I covered them. When I had finished, the rain was running in rivers over the ground, carrying away the dust and dirt and filling the wells with fresh clean water.
*
I’m old now. Over 90 they tell me. I sit here on the porch and sleep and dream and I listen to the crickets in the long grass and the mice gnawing at my house. Folk come and ask me if I’m okay, if I’ve eaten, but I don’t remember much. I don’t remember what happened yesterday or last week but I’ll never forget that long hot summer and the day the rains came.