Featuring Smoke Moore x Stack Moore
Summary: Elijah and Elias visit their Grandma June in Mississippi. June shares stories from 1926, when she learned strength and healing from her mother. She recounts how black families like theirs built America through resilience and labor. Her memories reveal how the country often forgot the people who shaped it.
The sun dipped low behind Mississippi pines, leaking amber through the branches. Elijahβs old motor rattled down the county road like it was held together by stubbornness and prayer. The air was thick with humidity, the kind that made your shirt cling to you even when you werenβt doing much.
Elijah drove one-handed, elbow resting on the open window. Sweat rolled down the side of his face, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. Elias had his feet on the dashboard, chewing on sunflower seeds and spitting shells into a cup.
βYou nasty as hell,β Elijah muttered.
Elias chuckled. βMan, please. You act like you ainβt done worse. I done drove with you after practice β your whole truck smelt like gym socks baptized in sorrow.β
βThat was many times.β
Elijah cracked a small smile but kept his eyes on the road. The trees grew taller, older, thicker. Mississippi didnβt change much, it just kept growing where nobody cut it back.
After a moment, Elias shifted in his seat.
βYou really think Grandma June sick-sick? Or she just want us to visit?β
Elijahβs jaw worked. βDoc said she had a spell with her heart. But she tough. Ainβt never met nobody stronger.β
βThat donβt mean nothinβ, though,β Elias said softly.
βIt mean enough,β Elijah replied, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Elias sucked his teeth. βManβ¦ every time we come out here, feel like the air get racist.β
βElβdonβt start.β
βIβm just sayinβ. Woods too quiet. Always feel like somethinβ watchinβ you.β
βThatβs your imagination.β
βNo, thatβs trauma passed down from our ancestors.β
Elijah snorted despite himself.
The dirt road to their grandmaβs house appeared like a crack in the earth. Elijah turned in, and the truck jostled over roots and dips.
βYou remember this road?β Elijah asked.
βYeah. I also remember the snake we almost ran over last summer, and the wasp nest in her mailbox, so Iβm already stressed.β
Feet hit gravel as the house came into view, a leaning blue shotgun house wrapped in kudzu and memories. The porch light flickered like it was winking at them.
Before they even climbed the steps, the screen door squeaked open.
Grandma June stood there with a dish towel thrown over her shoulder, her hair wrapped, her face lit with joy and exhaustion.
βWell, look at God,β she said. βMy babies done made it.β
Elijah hugged her carefully, like she was glass.
βYou look good, Grandma.β
βBoy, donβt lie to me. I look tired and hot.β
Then she turned to Elias.
βYou still talkinβ slick, huh?β
She pulled him into an embrace, patting his back twice. βHush all that and bring them bags inside.β
The table was set with hot cornbread, chicken gumbo, rice, and sweet tea so sugary it could stop a heart.
βSit down and eat,β Grandma commanded.
They did, after they finished praying.
Elias reached for a second biscuit too quick, and Grandma slapped his hand with a spoon.
βYou gonβ eat everything βfore it even cool down.β
βIβm a growinβ boy!β
Elijah choked on his gumbo trying not to laugh.
Grandma pointed her spoon at him. βAnd you. You look tired. You workinβ too many hours at that station.β
Elijah shrugged. βJust doinβ what I gotta do.β
βYou always βdoinβ what you gotta do.β When you gonβ do something for yourself, hm?β
He didnβt have an answer.
She eyed Elias next. βAnd what job you got now?β
Elias pointed at himself. βMe?β
βNo, the other fool named Elias sittinβ at my table.β
βIβm between opportunities.β
βThat mean unemployed,β Elijah said, sipping his tea.
βThat mean blessinβs cominβ my way,β Elias corrected.
Grandma waved him off like a fly. βYou got all that mouth, but your pockets sound like two nickels arguinβ.β
Elijah burst out laughing, gumbo almost spilling from his spoon.
βKeep talkinβ, Elijah,β Elias muttered. βKeep talkinβ, see where it get you.β
The three of them sat out on the porch. Grandma rocked slowly in her chair. The boys leaned on the rail, fireflies drifting lazily around them.
Lightning flickered far off.
βStorm cominβ,β Grandma murmured.
βYes maβam,β Elijah agreed.
Elias stretched. βIβm fixinβ to go grab a soda from the corner store.β
Elijah frowned. βRight now?β
βItβs literally one minute away.β
βStorm cominβ,β Grandma repeated.
βI ainβt made of sugar,β Elias said.
Grandma gave him a long, knowing look. βYou watch yourself out there. Folks round here still funny at night.β
βGrandma, itβs not the 1920βs no moβ.β
βAnd? Racism donβt expire.β
Elijah stood. βIβll go with you.β
βNah,β Elias said quickly. βIβll be quick. Chill. I ainβt twelve.β
Elijah hesitated. βJust keep yo phone on.β
Grandma whispered a short prayer under her breath.
Elijah heard it, and his stomach tightened.
Elias walked down the dirt road, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the trees. The cicadas were loud. Too loud. Like the forest was hiding something.
βManβ¦ this place weird as hell at night.β
Far off, a dog barked. Thunder grumbled.
A pickup truck drove slowly down the opposite end of the road. Older model. Black paint. No lights.
Then rolled to a near stop.
Elias felt the hair rise on his arms.
βAight,β he murmured. βNot tryna be on Dateline. Let me moveββ
He crossed the street casually.
Until it stopped again, right behind him.
Elias turned slightly, not enough to look scared, but enough to see two men inside. Older, white, faces unreadable through the dim.
βYou lost?β the driver called.
βNah, sir. Iβm good.β
βYou from βround here?β
βVisiting my grandma.β
The truck inched closer. Too close.
Elias took a small step back.
βIβm good, sir. Have a good night.β
That was the last thing he saw clearly.
A sudden movement in his periphery.
Elias felt something punch him in the side.
He stumbled into the ditch, hand going to his ribs, warm liquid coating his fingers.
Rain started like the sky was falling apart.
Elias tried to yell but only managed a hoarse whisper:
Elijah sprinted down the road in the pouring rain, calling his brotherβs name.
βElijahβ¦β Elias breathed.
Elijah fell to his knees, scooping him up, pressing his hand to the wound.
βWho did it?! Who did this to you?!β
βTruckβ¦ black pickupβ¦ theyβ they asked me if I was lostβ¦β
Rain mixed with blood, streaking down Eliasβs body.
Elijah grabbed his phone, hands shaking.
β911, whatβs your emergency?β
βMy brotherβs been shot! Heβs bleedinβ badβplease send somebody!β
βOld Mill Roadβnear Johnsonβs fieldβhurry!β
βSirβ¦ we donβt have active units available in that area.β
βWhat? What you mean you donβtβthis is an emergency!β
βItβs been marked a high-risk region after dark. Protocol statesββ
βI DONβT CARE ABOUT NO DAMN PROTOCOL!β
βIβm sorry, sir. We advise you to transport the victim to a saferββ
The fury in him was hot and bright and animal.
βThey ainβt cominβ, huh?β Elias whispered.
βNo,β Elijah said through clenched teeth. βThey ainβt.β
Elijah burst through the front door carrying Elias in both arms, slipping on the wet boards of the porch before catching himself. Rain poured off him in sheets. Eliasβs blood ran warm down his wrist.
βGrandma! Grandmβ!β Elijahβs voice cracked.
But Grandma June was already halfway down the hall.
She didnβt ask questions.
Her face didnβt even change.
She simply said, in a voice steady as a church bell:
βBring him to the kitchen. Not the couch. Floor in there easier to clean.β
Elijah stared at her, stunned but followed.
The kitchen light was bright and harsh, revealing exactly how bad Elias looked. Grandma motioned toward the long wooden table and Elijah laid his brother on it, mud dripping off both of them.
Grandma snapped on a pair of thin, yellowing gloves from a drawer.
βGet them wet clothes off him,β she ordered.
Elijah hesitated. βGrandma, heβs bleedinβββ
βI said get βem off. Donβt argue me.β
Her tone cut through the panic like a knife. Elijah stripped Eliasβs shirt away, revealing the gunshot woundβdark, slick, messy.
She moved like someone who had already accepted the situation ten steps ahead.
She reached under the sink and pulled out a metal box Elijah had never seen before, dented and old, paint flaking off the top. She popped it open with her thumb.
Two bottles of antiseptic.
A folded cloth stained from years ago.
Elijah blinked. βGrandmaβ¦ whereβd youββ
βBeen in this family longer than you been breathinβ,β she said.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a folded towel, placing it beneath Eliasβs head.
βElijah, hold him down.β
Her voice didnβt shake.
Elijah stepped closer, still trembling. βHeβhe got shot on the road. They drove up on him in this truckββ
βI figured,β she said calmly, pouring disinfectant over a wad of cotton.
βNoβGramsβthey targeted him. Theyββ
Her eyes cut up to him, sharp and unwavering.
βI said hold him down.β
Grandma pressed the soaked cotton to the wound.
Elias screamed and arched off the table, but Elijah held him steady.
βI know, baby,β she murmured, βI know it burn. But we donβt got the luxury of a doctor.β
Elijah felt his throat tighten.
βWe called 911. They saidβ they said they couldnβt come out here.β
βThatβs it? βSure enoughβ?β
βYou wanted surprise?β she said, threading the needle. βYou black, you bleedinβ, and you in the woods after dark. Ainβt nobody cominβ.β
Her tone wasnβt bitter, just factual.
Elias gritted his teeth, voice thin. βGramsβ¦ you sure you know what you doinβ?β
A soft chuckle slipped from her lips.
βLord, child. I been stitchinβ men back together since before your mama got her first period.β
She leaned down and started sewing with practiced, precise motions.
Elijah clenched his shoulder to keep him still.
Grandma hummed a tune under her breath; low, old, something that sounded like a field song passed through five generations. The kind of melody you didnβt learn, you inherited.
The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but inside the only sounds were:
The needle pulling through skin.
When she finished stitching, she cleaned the wound again and wrapped it tight with clean gauze.
Then she peeled off her gloves and pointed to Elijah.
Elijah slid an arm behind Eliasβs back and raised him slowly until he was propped against the wall. Elias groaned but stayed conscious.
Grandma mixed something in a tin cup, herbal, dark, smelling sharp.
Elias sniffed it. βThis look like poison.β
βIt ainβt poison if it keep you alive.β
Elias shot Elijah a weak look. βIf I die, tell the world she killed me.β
Grandma tapped him upside the head.
When she finished tending to Elias, Grandma washed her hands, cleaned the blood with bleach water, and put every tool back in the metal box.
Then she sat at the table beside Elias⦠and finally exhaled.
βGramsβ¦ how you know how to do all that?β
She lifted her eyes to him, slow and tired.
βBecause this house done seen this before.β
βYou talkinβ about Uncle Henry?β
She only stood, walked to the front door, and locked it with a solid click.
βStorm gonβ pass soon,β she said. βBut sit tight. Both of you.β
Elijah nodded, still shaken, still processing.
Elias drifted into a groggy sleep against Elijahβs shoulder.
Grandma leaned on the counter with both hands, staring out the window. Lightning flashed across her face.
And in that moment she looked like someone who had lived three lives already.
βElijah,β she said without turning around.
βIβll tell yβall the rest in the morning.β
She looked over her shoulder, eyes deep and distant.
βThe last time this house had to patch up a boy shot on that same road.β
Elijah woke up to the smell of frying butter and something sweet β maybe biscuits, maybe peach preserves. The storm had passed. Sunlight shot through the blinds in clean golden bars.
Elias was still asleep, breathing slow but steady, his bandage clean.
βMorning,β Grandma June said without looking up, stirring something on the stove in her old cast-iron skillet.
Elijah stretched and winced. βMorninβ, Grams.β
βYou sleep?β she asked.
βThat little enough to keep yβall from actinβ stupid today?β she said, cutting her eyes at him with the smallest hint of threat.
Elijah huffed. βI ainβt planninβ on goinβ nowhere.β
βGood,β she said, sliding biscuits onto a plate. βI ainβt planninβ on buryinβ nobody.β
Elias stirred at the table, groaning.
βDamnβ¦ feel like somebody hit me with a truck.β
Grandma thumped the back of his head lightly.
βYou got shot, fool. Donβt try to make it poetic.β
Elias chuckled weakly. βGramsβ¦ your bedside manner is terrible.β
βIt kept you alive, didnβt it? Now sit up straight. You gonβ eat like you got some home traininβ.β
She set plates in front of them: biscuits, eggs, thick slices of ham, and peach preserves that looked older than both brothers but tasted like heaven. Elijah and Elias tore into the food instantly.
After a few minutes of quiet chewing, Elijah cleared his throat.
βGramsβ¦ last night you said this ainβt the first time you had to do what you did.β
βYeahβ¦ you said youβd tell us today.β
Grandma froze with her fork in midair.
Then she put it down gently and wiped her hands on a cloth.
βEat,β she said softly. βLet me talk.β
She leaned back, eyes drifting toward the window as if the past were standing right outside.
βWhat happened to Henry?β Elijah asked carefully.
Grandma inhaled β slow, deep, like she had been avoiding that breath for years.
June remembered it clear as the day sunlight touched these fields.
Henry was nineteen. Tall, handsome, reckless in the way boys get when theyβre too brave for their own good. Worked the cotton fields with their daddy, came home with dust in his hair, muscles tight from the day, and a grin that could talk trouble into talking back.
He had dreams bigger than the county lines.
Anywhere with electricity in the streets and not just in the sky.
That evening, they ate black-eyed peas and cornbread around the oil lamp. Henry made jokes, teasing June, elbowing her, telling their mama;
βMama, you know June gonβ run off after me. She ainβt built for no cotton life neither.β
βThat girl ainβt runninβ nowhere. She stayinβ right here with me.β
But Henry winked at June anyway.
Later that night, against Mamaβs warnings, he said he was headinβ to Mr. Wilkesβ store for a bottle of soda pop.
βItβs dark,β Mama said. βYou wait till morninβ.β
βMama,β Henry laughed, βainβt nobody out there lookinβ for me.β
He stepped into the night, easy like he owned it.
June always remembered the sound of the screen door slapping shut behind him.
She didnβt know itβd be the last time she saw him walk unbroken.
June was sweeping the kitchen when she heard the truck first. Back in β26, trucks were a luxury β only certain men owned them, and those men werenβt the type Henry shouldβve been seen by after dark.
The rumble came slow down the dirt road.
Then slick laughterβmean, low, white laughter carried across the fields.
Sharp enough to split the night.
June dropped the broom and ran outside barefoot.
The air smelled like dust and gunpowder.
Henry was staggering toward the house, hands pressed to his side, a dark red patch spreading fast across his shirt.
βJUNEβ!β he gasped, voice breaking.
She sprinted. Her feet slapped the dirt hard enough to sting, rocks cutting her soles, but she didnβt feel any of it.
Henry collapsed before she reached him.
She caught his head, dragging him up with strength she didnβt know she had.
βMAMA!β she screamed. βMama, HELP!β
Mama Thompson burst out the front door in her nightgown, lantern in hand.
βLord have mercyβHenry, baby!β
Together they dragged him inside. His boots left long red streaks across the porch boards, stains June swears are still there under the paint.
Mama Thompson shoved everything off the kitchen table with one sweep of the arm; flour tin, bowls, sewing scraps, all of it crashing to the ground.
βJune, get the basin.β
βAnd the needle box.β
βAnd the liquor from the top shelf.β
Juneβs hands were shaking so bad she almost dropped the bottle, but her mama snatched it from her and poured it straight on Henryβs wound.
Henry screamed so loud the lamp flickered.
June nearly backed away, but her mamaβs voice snapped through the panic:
βJune. Hold him. Donβt you let go.β
June pressed Henryβs shoulders down while her mama threaded a thick needle using the lantern light.
βMamaβcanβt we get the doctor?β June sobbed.
Her mama didnβt look up.
βDoctors donβt ride out here for boys like Henry.β
Then she leaned in close, eyes sharp, breath steady.
βYou watch me now. You watch how to keep a manβs insides from fallinβ out his body.β
Watched her mother slide the needle through skin and flesh like cloth.
Watched Henry choke on his own blood.
Watched tears fall from her motherβs face onto Henryβs chest but her hands never once shook.
June held Henry down for what felt like hours.
When the last stitch tightened, Mama Thompson slumped back, sweating, chest heaving.
βHe gonβ live,β she whispered. βFor now.β
June pressed her forehead to Henryβs, crying into his hair.
By will, by skill, by love, by desperation.
And June learned every part of it.
She tapped the table lightly.
βThat nightβs when I learned,β she said softly. βLearned how to stitch a wound. How to clean it. How to keep a bullet from takinβ somebody you love.β
Elias listened with wide eyes, one hand resting gently near his bandage.
βAnd when I saw you bleedinβ yesterday,β June went on, βI swear it felt like 1926 all over again. Same table. Same smell of blood. Same fear in my chest.β
She touched Eliasβs cheek.
βOnly difference wasβ¦ this time I knew exactly what to do. βCause my mama taught me. And her mama taught her. And nowβ¦β
she looked at Elijah and Elias with eyes too full of generations,
ββ¦I pray yβall wonβt ever need to know it.β
Sunlight filtered through like dust from memory.
The storm had passed by morning, but the air still felt swollen, heavy like the clouds had left their grief behind.
Grandma June sat on the porch with Elijah and Elias, the old swing creaking beneath them. Elias was pale but awake, wrapped in a quilt stitched from scraps of old church dresses and flour sacks. Elijah sat on his other side, jaw tight, eyes shadowed from a night without rest.
For a long time, they listened to the birds humming in the trees. The house behind them smelled faintly of coffee and salt pork frying.
Then Grandma June spoke, voice low and smooth as worn river stone.
βBoysβ¦ yβall been askinβ what I meant when I said this land remembers. What I meant when I told yβall Henry wasnβt the first, and yβall wonβt be the last.β
She stared out toward the fields; endless, green, indifferent.
βWell, let me tell yβall somethinβ. Somethinβ my mama told me, and her mama told her. Somethinβ black folks been whisperinβ to each other since the first foot touched the soil of this place.β
βYou see these fields?β she said softly. βThese cotton rows? These roads? These houses? This whole stretch of Mississippi soil?β
βWellβ¦ they was built on black backs. On sweat that never stopped fallinβ. On hands blistered from sunup to sundown.β
She traced the porch rail with her finger.
βYour great-great-granddaddy, Samuel Thompson, he was born in chains on land not too far from here. Made to pick cotton until his skin cracked like dry earth. They sold his mama when he was nine. Sold his brother at eleven. He ainβt never saw neither of βem again.β
Elijahβs throat tightened.
Elias looked down at his hands.
βThat man,β June went on, βstill found it in himself to grow food, repair houses, build barns, and help strangers. He carved out a little freedom with his bare hands after emancipation. Built a home from wood so soft termites chewed it before he finished the roof.β
βSamuel made a life. But America didnβt ever say thank you.β
June clasped her hands together in her lap.
βYou know them old spirituals? The ones the elders still hum in church?β
βWell, those were prayers black folks sang when all they had was breath and belief. Prayers that kept βem alive. Prayers that pushed this country closer to its own promise even when it didnβt want to keep it.β
She hummed a few lines of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, her voice trembling like an echo through time.
βBlack folks prayed America forward even when America told βem they didnβt belong in it.β
βYour great-uncle Marcus, your granddaddyβs brother, fought in World War I. Came back with medals. Medals they told him to wear only inside the house so the white men in town wouldnβt get upset.β
Elias frowned. βWhy?β
ββCause the same country he fought for didnβt want him walkinβ βround lookinβ like a hero.β
βMarcus survived the French trenches but died in Mississippi, beaten by a sheriff with a badge he earned fightinβ beside white soldiers.β
βThatβs America for black folks. A place you build, a place you pour intoβ¦ but a place that donβt always claim you back.β
βMississippi birthed the blues,β June said, pointing toward the red clay road. βAnd the blues was born from men and women who ainβt had no justice, no rest, no mercy.β
βYβall ever hear them old records? Son House, Charley Patton, young B.B. King?β
Elijah nodded. βDaddy used to play βem.β
βWell, every note is a testimony. A record of what this land did to us, and what we did with the pain. We turned suffering into sound. Into survival. Into art. Into somethinβ so powerful the whole world ended up wantinβ a piece of it.β
βBut the world rarely wanted us.β
June rested her hand over Eliasβs.
βWhat happened to you last night, babyβ¦ ainβt new. Ainβt fair. Ainβt right. But it ainβt new.β
βAnd the rage inside you? I know it. I carried it for years after Henry got shot.β
Elijah looked down, jaw clenched.
βBut listen to me careful,β she said. βAmerica been makinβ black boys bury their hurt for centuries. Thatβs the requiem we livinβ in β a mourning song sung over and over, hopinβ one day we wonβt have to sing it no more.β
βThis country donβt stop beinβ yours just because somebody tried to tell you it ainβt.β
Like the land itself was listening.
June placed Eliasβs hand on Elijahβs, then placed hers over both.
βYour ancestors tilled this soil. Built these houses. Fought in these wars. Birthed these stories. Raised these fields. Carved freedom outta stone.β
βThis is your America too. Donβt you let nobody - not a bullet, not a badge, not a lie, take that from you.β
A soft wind moved through the trees.
Juneβs voice dropped to a whisper.
βSometimes you gotta mourn the country you belong toβ¦ so you can make it into the one we deserved.β
Happy New Year yβall. I hope 2026 is filled with health & happiness. To kick things off, here is the first chapter of my Cowboy Carter series. We are now officially in the year of Act III which Iβm so excited about πΈ. I hope yall enjoy this fic & be sure to lemme know what you think. I love yβall. β₯οΈ
