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A cool breeze came through the kitchen window. Fall, I thought. It’s come. The baby still hadn’t kicked, but the bleeding had slowed down. Emma’s burned hand was some better. The drought was broken; determination had taken hold of my mind. I believed myself able to face all things, even Isaac’s faults. I was determined to live up to his admiration. Me and the children would stand the winter without him.

I hung the pillowcase on the clothesline we’d put up earlier in the kitchen. It’d be a few minutes before there’d be another one to wring. I put my hand in my apron pocket and felt the unopened letter from Sue. “Mind the girls,” I said to Mary.

I went to my bedroom, closed the door, and got out Isaac’s magnifying glass. I eased into my rocker; it was good to get off of my legs. I slipped my thumbnail along the flap of the envelope and pulled out the folded pages.

My nerves balling up on me, I held the pages to my nose and breathed them in. I could almost smell the black ink. The letter came from a home that had electric lights, a kitchen sink with running water, and an icebox packed with cuts of meat. It came from a city where people went to movie houses, listened to music on phonographs, and drove Model Ts on paved roads. Telephones rang, and in narrow apartment hallways, neighbors spoke to one another.

I smelled the pages again like I could bring that kind of life to the Badlands. Then I told myself it was time. I held the letter to the light that came through the small window over the bed. I put the magnifying glass to Sue’s words. They rose up big before me.

August 10, 1917

Dear Sister,

The Kids are asleep and Paul left just now for his shift at the hotel. At last I have a few minutes to finally write this Letter. I have put it off long enough. Mama tried but couldn’t bring herself to. I myself am real tired and my hands ache bad so I will keep this short.

I do not know what you hear way out there. Probably not much but surely you heard about the troubles in East St Louis and are worried sick about our Brother. You are right to be worried. I do not know how to put this other than Johnny is dead.

The pages dropped to my lap. I felt like crying and laughing all at the same time. I thought it would be my mother. Johnny never crossed my mind. I read part of the last sentence again. Johnny is dead.

Me and Mama were in the Laundry Room when we heard about the Race Riot down there. That is what the newspapers called it. A Race Riot. When we heard about it Mama got a real bad feeling. She ran out the Hotel and went to the Telegraph Office and sent a Telegram to Johnny. We waited two days to hear from him. It was hard. Mama finally asked Mrs Fuller if she could use one of the Hotel Telephones to call Johnnys Boarding House. She said yes but she would take it out of Mamas pay. I would say that woman does not have a heart but she helped Mama make the Telephone Call which is not so easy it being Long Distance.

Pearl came on the Telephone Line and she did not know where he was, she said that mobs of White Men were hanging Negroes and she was packing their things cause it was not safe. White Men were kicking down doors telling people to get out of town and then setting fire to their houses. She was crying and Mama could not make out half of what she said. Mama asked her where was Johnny and she said she did not know. Johnny had not been home in two days and she was too scared to go look for him. Mama told her that when Johnny comes home tell him to send his Mother a Telegram right away she was worried sick.

Rachel my hands hurt bad I have to quit.

August 11

I told the kids to be quiet I have to finish my letter to you.

After Mama talked to Pearl a whole week went by. Then Mama got a Letter instead of a Telegram and it was not from Johnny but from some man by the name of Quince Armstrong. A Friend of Johnnys. He said in his Letter that a mob of White Men busted into Connies. That is the place where Johnny was playing. These White Men were swinging