Chapter Text
It was an oppressively hot day. The heat was the kind that made the air ripple off the ground and the walls bend down to sweat with you. Hair grease dripped down Isaac’s brow as Momma tried her best to fix it into his scalp. Long, practiced fingers worked his hair into tight braids running back across his head to the nape of his neck. Momma claimed it would keep him cool during the day, but it had been so hot as of late that Isaac could not tell a difference. He was lucky to have the same course, tight curls on his head as she did, Momma always said.
Those curls on your head, she’d always say when she combed his hair, Might got your daddy’s face, but this hair? That’s how I know you mine.
Isaac had never really known what that meant. But he often had no clue what grown folks meant when they talked like that. He thought he looked more like Momma. Her skin was much deeper brown than his, but still closer to his than Daddy’s. He thought their noses looked just alike. Whenever Isaac brought it up, Momma insisted the only things on his face that he’d gotten strictly from her were his mouth and the very tip of his nose. Daddy was big and tall with eyes blue like the sky on a sharp face. His hair was straight like grass, and his skin was hardly ever darker than the sand by the creek. Last time Daddy had been through, he’d had the start of a beard. Isaac wondered if it would be full next time he saw him. He wanted a beard just like his daddy when he got grown.
“Momma?” Isaac asked, careful not to move his head. Try as he may, he still moved too much for her.
Momma’s knees tightened at his shoulders, keeping him stuck in his place on the floor. She wiggled the hairpins between her lips to the corner of her mouth, though her voice was still muffled as she spoke. “What is it, my baby?” She took a pin from her lips and sectioned off a new piece of hair. “Keep your head straight.”
“Sorry, Momma,” Isaac said, his voice growing excited as his hazel eyes grew as full as the moon. “Is Daddy gon’ make it on time? He gotta take me fishing!”
Momma started chuckling low in her throat. Her laugh sounded a little like a wagon wheel. But that’s how he knew she was really laughing. “Now, Isaac Morgan, you know your daddy ain’t never miss your birthday. I’m sure he gon’ take you down the creek the day he gets here. Y’all fish just like you always do, and I’m gon’ have more bass than I know what to do with.”
Isaac practically bounced with excitement. Daddy came to stay every few months, but to Isaac, the months felt like eternity. Whenever he came, Daddy always brought something nice with him. It was always something extra nice on Isaac’s birthday. Isaac would be six at the end of the week, and Momma said that was a very big age indeed. Daddy had gotten him candy and a Penny Dreadful last year, but Isaac couldn’t quite read it on his own. Instead, Daddy had read it to him and helped him sound out the words. He could read that Penny Dreadful with little struggle all by himself now, and liked to read it to Momma. She could not read or write, but always encouraged him to be better between Daddy’s visits. Isaac’s reading was fine enough for his age, but he’d pretend otherwise if Daddy brought another book.
With a final pass through of hair grease, Isaac’s head bobbed back as Momma twirled the end of a plait on her finger. She sat back on her stool, finally releasing Isaac from the bony prison of his mother’s knees. He turned to face her and smiled at her as she called him handsome. The smiles melted into laughter as Momma brought him in close and tapped his nose with her finger. She crossed her arms and cocked her head and tapped her foot rhythmically as Isaac straightened up. It was time for Momma’s questions. For as long as he could remember, Momma would have him stand in front of her to recite the answer to the same question. They did this ritual of theirs daily, sometimes multiple times a day. It was said however many times Momma decided.
“Isaac Morgan,” Momma said, tilting her chin up.
“Ma’am?”
“Who in this world can you count on?”
Isaac drew in a deep breath and stood up as straight as an arrow, though he started fiddling with a belt loop on his pants nearly immediately. He spoke stiffly as a child would, despite rehearsing the line in his prayers every night. “The good Lord above, my family, and me.”
Momma nodded her head and kissed his forehead as she got up. She shooed him off as she went into the kitchen and fixed a worn-out, patched cream apron over her brown plaid skirt. Humming, she floated over to the cupboard and hauled out the big bag of rice that Daddy brought them the last time he came through. She lugged it over to the counter and fetched a can of beans from a shelf by her knee. As she walked back to the cupboard, Isaac sincerely hoped she’d fetch the salt fish instead of any cured venison. It was not that he did not like it; he did. He’d simply had it too much as of late. Before he could see what she grabbed, Momma turned around and picked up the big metal pot from the stove.
“Isaac,” Momma said, her voice firm as a handshake, “Didn’t I tell you to go get some shoes on so you can play?”
“You gon’ play with me?” Isaac practically begged. He played just fine all alone, but games were always more fun with two.
Momma sighed gently and shook her head as she readjusted the pot in her arms. She looked long at Isaac and shook her head gently once more. “Baby, I’m cookin’. You wanna eat supper, yeah?”
Isaac’s eyes dropped, and he nodded slowly. He expected her to say no, but expectation did little to rectify the disappointment nonetheless. His face fell into a pout with no effort to hide it. It had not been his intention to guilt Momma, yet it seemed to have worked regardless. Momma set the pot down on the counter and looked at the window like she’d lost something outside. “As soon as I set the rice up and finish with the fish, I’ll come out and play for only a few minutes. Don’t want your food getting cold.”
The smile that spread across his mouth was like no other. He bounded into the bedroom as fast as his legs could take him, making a beeline for his little bed beneath the window. The wooden floor creaked beneath him as his feet slapped against the aging planks. For it being a cramped little room, it certainly situated them both just fine. Isaac had frequently wondered how it would feel once he were bigger, but Momma always told him they’d deal with it whenever the time came. So long as it was big enough to accommodate all of the things he cared about, he would forget his qualms. It was certainly big enough to play with his jacks, read a book, or pretend to be anyone from Landon Ricketts to any member of the Jack Hall Gang on his hobby horse. He should have been getting his shoes just as Momma said, but the allure of playing at being Bart Love soon won over. No proper cowpoke was complete without his hat, and much to Isaac’s frustration, his was nowhere to be found. Try as he may, he could not find it anywhere amongst his things. It was not in the toy chest nor under the wardrobe. Neither was it under his bed. Isaac could have turned that room upside down and inside out before he realized he had not checked beneath Momma’s bed.
He prostrated himself on the floor and peered under her bed. One glance at the gun safe, and Isaac had forgotten all about his hat. The latches of that forbidden lockbox were flipped up, practically begging him to hold what was hidden inside. Leave that well alone, ya hear? Isaac remembered Daddy saying. That box grown folk business. Ain’t nothing for you to mind in there. Momma chimed in immediately afterward with a hand on her hip and a straight finger pointed directly at Isaac’s face. Worse judgment would have said to pick it up and hold it, and the best would have said to leave it alone. The only judgment Isaac deemed satisfactory was to look but not touch. Casting a glance at the door to see if Momma was still in the kitchen, unaware, Isaac pulled the heavy box out from under her bed with great effort. His eyes grew wide and as shiny as the gleaming gray gunmetal that made up Daddy’s revolver. Several bullets were strewn loosely about the case, though he was unsure of how many. He could not confidently count past 10, and there were certainly more than ten bullets. What would the harm be in touching it, he wondered. Surely a single touch would be no trouble. Just one, he promised, just one, and he’d put the box away again. There were so many interesting parts, though, that he could hardly choose which to touch. The trigger was instantly off limits, but the bulkiest part with six round holes in it was just too much to resist. He ran his finger over it and put a little force on it, and it rolled.
Click.
Momma was on him faster than he realized she had even left the kitchen. He yelped as she struck him across his behind with the back of her hand and ordered him out of the room. Her hands could be as soft and tender as a kiss goodnight or as hard as bed slats. They felt more like switches from the way his backside stung. Rather than incur Momma’s righteous wrath once more, Isaac snatched his shoes from by the door and skittered away into the main room to put them on.
“I’ve done told you time and time again to leave that gun ‘lone! It’s dangerous! Touch it again and find out what happens. Do I make myself clear, Isaac Morgan?” Momma said as she came back out of the room. Isaac nodded frantically. She exhaled harshly and put her hands on her hips as she watched him run to the door. “Get on outside, now.”
Isaac did not need to be told twice.
Summer heat enveloped him the moment he stepped out from under the porch. It had not been much cooler in the house, but anything was cooler than this. The tall grass was normally a dull green this time of year, but they were brown from lack of rain. Behind the house and closest to the water, the grass was still somewhat green. Some light breeze tried to make the heat more tolerable, yet it was still all too hot to be outside long enough for any in-depth games of make-believe. Even the quails and field mice had retreated into the taller grass way out in the plains to escape it. Out of the corner of his eye, Isaac spotted the only creatures that dared brave the heat crawling in a regimented line across the wooden steps of the porch. Little black ants marching in their column gave Isaac something to do. He hopped down the steps one by one and caused a plume of dirt to puff up in his face as he hit the ground. It mattered little as he got low to the dirt and trailed behind the insects, eager to see where they went. They curved around sticks and zig-zagged when the little boy’s shadow loomed too close until they ultimately reached the little dirt pile they called home. Isaac watched curiously as they disappeared down into the ground, and more ants came out to replace those that went in. How many ants could be in there? Moreover, how big was it there? What was there? Having so many questions and not enough answers made him frustrated.
“Daddy would know,” Isaac said aloud. He scratched his head and was about to turn back to the house when the crunch of grass and grit beneath leather boots stopped him in his tracks.
“What would your daddy know, boy?” A man with a gravelly voice asked. Isaac turned around to see two men standing a pace away. The taller man speaking to him had wiry red-blond hair sticking out from under his hat. The shorter, thinner man had a sweat-stained black shirt with a mustache to match and the meanest eyes Isaac had ever seen. Both had guns in their holsters, but neither reached for them. When Isaac failed to answer, the taller man became annoyed. “Are you deaf, boy?”
Isaac shook his head tentatively. “No, sir, I was wondering where the ants go.”
“I wonder that too,” said the mean-eyed man. His voice was not so mean. “Maybe he does know. Is he home?”
Isaac shook his head. “No, sir, but my momma is. I… She might know!”
“What’s your name, boy?” asked the taller man.
“Isaac.”
The mean-eyed man smiled with stained, crooked teeth and got down on his knee at eye level with Isaac. He set his hand down on the ground and let a few ants crawl onto it before he lifted it close for Isaac to see. “Well, Isaac, my friend and I have some business with your momma. How about you and I fool with the ants while my friends goes and talks to her? See if we can’t uncover the mystery a’ the hill.”
Isaac nodded absentmindedly as his eyes tracked the ants intensely. He hadn’t even realized that the taller man was already walking toward the house. Once he had noticed, he looked over his shoulder several times to see what the tall man was doing. The mean-eyed man simply redirected Isaac’s gaze to a grasshopper he’d found. There was a quiet ease to everything the man did, and yet Isaac couldn’t ignore the coldness radiating from him. He pointed out the different parts and joints on the insect, stroking the little boy’s curiosity with each word. When the first bug hopped away, he did not bother to look for another.
“Mr. Hopper jumps ‘cuz it’s all he knows to do. He must jump because something compels him to at the very moment he decides to leave the ground. No thinkin’ about it, just does it,” the man said, standing. He groaned quietly and stretched out his back before nodding toward the house. “Men are like that too, y’know? All we do is what we know. C’mon now… let’s go see if my friend over there’s finished business with your mother.”
Isaac nodded slightly as he turned to go back to the house. To his surprise, the tall man was leaning against a beam on the porch, smoking a cigarette. As he approached, Isaac could see Momma still back in the kitchen through the window. The tall man must have never even knocked on the door. Once Isaac and the mean-eyed man had arrived, the taller snuffed out his cigarette and spat into the dirt. He waved his hand toward his body, and up the stairs the three of them went. Raising his head, the taller man sniffed the air dramatically and smirked.
“Say, Momma a good cook?” He did not wait for an answer. Positioning himself in such a way that Isaac was between him and the other man, he knocked fiercely on the door whilst calling out for Momma. “Ma’am! I need to talk to you!” The door creaked open after two or three more calls.
Momma stood in the doorway with confusion on her face. But the moment her eyes crossed Isaac, the confusion instantly gave way to an intense suspicion. She snapped her fingers and beckoned toward Isaac with very little patience for dallying. “Isaac, come here.” The short man grabbed him by his shoulder.
“Woman, I’m gonna make this real simple for you,” the taller man said as he looked down at his boots. He looked up not even a moment later, and any trace of jollity in his voice had vanished. “You’re gonna go get every last cent and anything of value in this shithole, and you’re gonna give it to me—“
“We poor! Ain’t nothing in here that’s of use to you!” Momma yelled, interrupting him.
The tall man spat out the side of his mouth, ignoring her. “…Or, we’re gon’ blow a hole clean through your black ass and make this little mongrel right here watch. I’ll make this trip worthwhile ‘fore I kill ya.”
Momma cried out to God as Isaac turned directly into the barrel of the mean-eyed man’s revolver. Good Lord, how he wished to be a grasshopper and jump away from this man. His grip on Isaac’s arm was so strong that he couldn’t even wriggle himself free if he tried, and he certainly did try. The tall man aimed his gun at Momma and stood there wordlessly.
“Damn this all to hell!” Momma cursed, backing up into the house. When she went inside, the tall man went right after her until they’d both disappeared. Mean-Eye shoved Isaac forward and brought him to the center of the main room. Isaac’s heart was beating so fast, and the fear grew so big that he had no room left in his body to keep it. The wailing that erupted from his throat was loud and seemingly unending. Tall Man yelled for him to shut up from the bedroom, and Mean-Eye threatened to twist his arm off if he kept it up. Isaac could not stop.
After far too much time, Momma came falling out of the bedroom door as Tall Man shoved her in the back. Tears ran down her face, but she wasn’t squalling like Isaac. Her tears looked angry. Once she had regained her feet, she hurriedly dumped an assortment of mixed coins and bills along with a bead necklace onto the dinner table. Tall Man pushed past her and shuffled through the money, counting under his breath as he went. His eyes darkened, and his face turned red before he wheeled around and snatched Momma by her hair. Momma’s hands wrestled with him, though it was clear even to Isaac that she was getting nowhere.
“Now I know you have more than that, woman!” Tall Man barked, “Now you know the consequences—“
“We have no more!” Momma’s voice wavered. She hadn’t seemed so scared before, but now she looked just as terrified as Isaac. “Lord, just take it and go!”
Tall Man shook his head and forced Momma down to where she was half lying on the table. The revolver had not moved away from the back of her head once; in fact, it seemed closer now. Tall Man nodded to Mean-Eye and mumbled something that made Momma jolt as he pulled back the hammer of his gun. Mean-Eye did the same, sending the most mortal fear shooting through Isaac’s tiny body. Even fighting as hard as he could, a little boy was no match for the strength of a grown man. This adolescent ferocity seemed to amuse Mean-Eye quite a great deal. “Say, friend, I’m feeling merciful.”
“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Tall Man asked, his head snapping up.
“We’re being so cruel, subjecting the boy to all this,” Mean-Eye’s voice trailed like rotten treacle. “He shouldn’t have to watch her die. Just can’t stomach the thought.”
“So what—Bitch, if you don’t stop movin’!” Tall Man paused abruptly as he forced Isaac’s still thrashing mother down again. “So what is it you’re suggesting, then? I’m losing my damn patience with these animals.”
“We kill ‘em first, simple as.”
Momma thrashed harder than she had before, cursing and spitting as she did. “You damn monsters! Don’t you dare touch him, so help me God!”
“Oh, don’t you cry!” Tall Man laughed, pulling Momma’s head up just enough for her to see. “We ain’t done with you yet, darlin’! Go ‘head and tell the boy good night.”
Isaac’s feet left the ground as Mean-Eye wrenched him up in the air, his laughter coupling with Momma’s pleading like some sick music. He did not think it possible to cry any harder than he had, but here Isaac was crying so hard that his eyes and throat hurt from it. Mean-Eye threw him violently against the bedroom floor and laughed like the devil as he did it. “Don’t worry, boy, we’ll make this real easy for ya.” Isaac could not even react as the back of the pistol smacked dead across his head. The moment it struck him, his little body could give no more. It happened just as a blink, yet his eyes did not open.