Chapter Text
The sun was barely crawling over the horizon when Sammie came down the red clay road. Sweat clung to his forehead and the back of his neck; dirt streaked his shirt and stained the knees of his trousers, his palms still rough and soiled from the fields. A heavy sack of cotton sagged against his shoulders as crickets kept up their fading song and the first birds stirred awake in the trees.
For the past week, he had risen before the rest of the house, chasing the day’s light to make sure he met his quota. By the time he was heading home, others were just coming in, neighbors and kin alike, nodding as they passed along the rows. An old man with a limp, a boy hardly bigger than his sack, even a young woman heavy with child, all of them set to work without complaint. Sammie tipped his chin in greeting, sharing a smile here and there, the kind that made the load on his back feel a little lighter.
By the time the house came into view, the sun was already burning down stronger, catching on the tin wash bucket where his mother bent over her work. She scrubbed cloth against the washboard, humming to herself in rhythm with the water. Beyond her, the front door creaked open, and his father stepped out, Sammie’s guitar slung carelessly in one hand, held by its strings, as he started down the porch steps.
He dragged the sack up onto the porch, then skipped a step toward his father.
“Woah, Pop- what you doin’?”
“Good morning, Samuel,” his mother called from the wash bucket, her voice bright as if she hadn’t heard a word of it.
His father’s calm eyes met his, face unreadable. “I was taking it down to the church,” he said evenly. “Figured you might put it to use in tomorrow’s service.”
Sammie let the sack fall heavy on the porch boards with a dull thud. His mother straightened at the sound, wiping her wet hands on her apron as she came nearer, a small smile tugging at her mouth. Sammie tried for a smile back, but his eyes flicked nervously to his father.
“Aw, Ma, you don’t need to be worryin’ over this,” he said, light and pleading all at once, stepping forward to shoo them both toward the doorway. “Come on, please..let’s just talk inside real quick.”
“What- Samuel?” his father snapped, head turning sharp toward him as he was ushered across the threshold. “Boy, what’s gotten into you?” His mother laughed, half-amused by Sammie’s sudden fussing as she let herself be guided indoors.
Sammie shut the door behind them and turned back, meeting the puzzled looks of his parents.
The house was shanty and spare, just two rooms to hold them all. One side made do as a kitchen and dining space; the other was closed off by a wall and a bare doorway, no door to it, where the family slept. Inside, his four younger siblings were still stretched out on the pallet, tangled in quilts, the slow rhythm of their breathing filling the room.
Nerves burned in his gut. He shifted from foot to foot, clasping his hands together to steady himself.
“Listen, um-”
“Boy, you ’bout to ask for something,” his mother interrupted, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Sammie’s courage faltered. “I-uh…” He stumbled over his words, throat tight.
“Speak, boy,” his father said, voice low but firm.
“The twins… they’re coming back today,” Sammie said quickly. “I got the chance to call ’em at Bo’s store, and they… they invited me over tonight.”
“No. Absolutely not,” his father cut him off.
“Boy, you’re in and out of this house every other night, you think we don’t notice? Carrying that bane of strings wherever you go, playing for drunkards and philanders, never asked then, did you?”
“I mean… the twins- ” Sammie protested, voice tight.
“And those twins,” his father said, eyes narrowing, voice steady and hard. “You think their return changes anything? You don’t ask for permission often, Samuel, and now you come running with this—just this once. You know I don’t allow you near them.”
He lifted the guitar slightly, the weight awkward in his hands, but his expression didn’t waver. “Why can’t you take this… this passion of yours and put it toward the Lord?”
“Oh, come on-” Sammie interjected, frustration rising.
“Oh, come on?” his father repeated, calm and measured, letting the words hang like a judgment in the room.
From the other room, the soft rustle of his younger siblings stirred Sammie’s mother into motion. She moved between the two men, worry etched across her face.
“Now, hold on just a minute,” she said, voice calm but firm. “It’s too early for all this, Samuel. I know you want to see family, but we need to be reasonable.”
“Ruth,” Jedidiah said quietly, his tone carrying weight.
Silence fell, thick in the room.
“The answer is no, Samuel.”
The sun had climbed high in the sky by the time his father’s words settled into silence, rays pouring through the windows and turning the dust in the air to gold. Then—sharp as a blade—a car horn cut through the stillness.
“That’s… that’s them,” Sammie murmured.
Jedidiah’s gaze turned on him, cold and steady, his frown barely deepening but heavy all the same. His mother, unwilling to let the tension coil tighter, smoothed her apron with damp hands and hurried to the door.
When she pulled it open, two tall silhouettes stood framed in the glare, their figures dark against the morning sun.
“Elijah, Elias,” Ruth gasped, half-stammering, “oh my goodness—you should’ve told me yall’s coming this early. House ain’t fit for company, Lord help me—”
“Now, Auntie,” Elias drawled, stepping inside like the doorway belonged to him, his dusk-blue jazz suit catching the light. A red fedora tipped rakishly on his head, his grin wide and taunting. “We ain’t company. You know that.” He swept her up in a hug before she could fuss, the brim of his hat nearly knocking against her cheek.
Behind him, Elijah followed at an easier pace, his tweed suit pressed neat, his blue scally cap pulled low. His voice was softer, steadier, as he nodded in greeting. “Mornin’, Ruth. Uncle.”
“Land sakes, y’all done grown near double,” Ruth fussed, her hands wringing even as she smiled.
Elias snorted. “Same size as we was when we left, Auntie. Y’all just been shrinkin’.”
That earned him a sharp look from Jedidiah, but Elias only grinned wider, the picture of trouble waiting to happen. Elijah, quieter, merely tipped his chin toward Sammie, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
The twins’ arrival filled the room in two very different ways. Elias clapped Sammie on the shoulder with a broad grin, then leaned back with a dramatic sniff.
“Lord, boy—you smell like the back end of a mule. You plannin’ on walkin’ into our new place like that?” He tipped his red fedora, grin wide, teeth flashing.
“Elias,” Ruth scolded, flustered. She hurried to the laundry basket, pulling out a clean shirt and thrusting it into Sammie’s arms. “Go on, Samuel, change. Wash your hands too. Can’t have you steppin’ out lookin’ like you just crawled out the ground.”
A shuffle came from the doorway. Sammie’s younger siblings crowded in the frame, hair tousled and eyes wide, half-hiding behind the wall. The oldest girl’s face lit with recognition.
“It’s the twins,” she whispered, almost reverent. The littler ones only giggled at the sight of strangers in fine suits until Ruth flapped her hand at them. “Go on now, back to bed.”
“Go on, back in there,” she said quickly, though a smile betrayed her nerves.
Sammie’s eyes darted to his father, but Ruth was already steering him toward the basin. Once he’d changed, she fussed at his collar and brushed down his sleeves, hands trembling slightly as though she could smooth away his father’s silence.
Jedidiah hadn’t moved. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes locked on the twins like a gate meant to keep wolves at bay.
“You’ll have him back before nightfall,” he said at last, voice calm and heavy as stone.
Elias only smirked, but Elijah Elias stepped forward, tipping his cap in quiet respect. “You have our word, Uncle.” Elias finally spoked, “He’ll be safe with us. Ain’t nothin’ gon’ happen to him under our watch.”
Jedidiah’s stare didn’t waver. Elijah met it evenly, unflinching, until the silence settled thick between them. Then Elias cut it with a quick laugh, tossing Sammie a wink.
“Can’t promise he won’t be different, though.”
The words hung sharp in the dust-filled sunbeams. Ruth’s hands tightened on her son’s shoulders. Jedidiah’s frown deepened, but he said nothing more.
Jedidiah’s hand shifted on the neck of the guitar, still held as if it were proof of his son’s failings. Elias’s eyes flicked to it, his grin sharpening.
“Well now, can’t send the boy off without his strings,” he drawled. Before his uncle could object, Elias plucked it neatly from his grasp, cradling it with a flourish as though it belonged to him all along.
Jedidiah’s jaw tightened, but Elijah laid a steadying hand on his cousin's shoulder and gave a small nod toward the door.
“Come on, Sammie,” Elias said, swinging the guitar into the boy’s arms and steering him forward with an easy clap on the back. “World won’t wait.”
Ruth’s hands lingered at her son’s sleeves, then fell away as the twins ushered him out into the blinding sun. The screen door creaked shut behind them, leaving Jedidiah alone in the dim, his silence heavier than any words.
The men stepped out, the morning heat clinging to them like a second skin. The cicadas were already starting their steady whine. Elias clapped Sammie on the back, steering him toward the car with that sly grin of his.
“Unc ain’t changed a lick,” he muttered, low enough to earn a look from Elijah but not low enough that Sammie missed it.
Sammie hopped into the back seat, the leather worn and hot from the sun. Elijah, Smoke, took the wheel, while Elias, Stack, settled in beside him, cheerful. The engine coughed to life, and as the house shrank behind them, Smoke finally spoke.
“Well then, Sammie,” his voice even, almost too even, “how you been holdin’ up? Your daddy treatin’ you right? He don’t be putting his hands on you, do he?”
Sammie shook his head quickly. “Naw. Ain’t nothin’ like that.”
Smoke spoke without looking over. “And the little ones? Your daddy keepin’ his temper off ’em?”
“Only when they get outta line,” Sammie said easy. “Mostly Ma does the whoopin’.”
Smoke gave a short nod. “Good. Always knew your daddy to be stern, but stern ain’t cruel.”
Sammie grinned a little. “So tell me—Chicago really what folks say? Heard a Black man can walk where he wants, no Jim Crow.”
Stack barked a laugh. “Boy, don’t go foolin’ yourself. North or South, white folks’ll still find a way to put you in your place.”
Smoke’s tone was steady. “Chicago’s just Mississippi with taller buildings, that’s all.”
Stack smirked, leaning back. “That’s why we came back. If the devil’s everywhere, might as well stick with the one we know.”
Sammie leaned into the moment, bold enough to grin. Whatever lay ahead, it already felt freer than home.