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. Elijahโs 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 werenโt 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.
โYou nasty as hell,โ Elijah muttered.
Elias chuckled. โMan, please. You act like you ainโt done worse. I done drove with you after practice โ your whole truck smelt like gym socks baptized in sorrow.โ
โThat was many times.โ
Elijah cracked a small smile but kept his eyes on the road. The trees grew taller, older, thicker. Mississippi didnโt change much, it just kept growing where nobody cut it back.
After a moment, Elias shifted in his seat.
โYou really think Grandma June sick-sick? Or she just want us to visit?โ
Elijahโs jaw worked. โDoc said she had a spell with her heart. But she tough. Ainโt never met nobody stronger.โ
โThat donโt mean nothinโ, though,โ Elias said softly.
โIt mean enough,โ Elijah replied, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Elias sucked his teeth. โManโฆ every time we come out here, feel like the air get racist.โ
โElโdonโt start.โ
โIโm just sayinโ. Woods too quiet. Always feel like somethinโ watchinโ you.โ
โThatโs your imagination.โ
โNo, thatโs trauma passed down from our ancestors.โ
Elijah snorted despite himself.
The dirt road to their grandmaโs house appeared like a crack in the earth. Elijah turned in, and the truck jostled over roots and dips.
โYou remember this road?โ Elijah asked.
โYeah. I also remember the snake we almost ran over last summer, and the wasp nest in her mailbox, so Iโm already stressed.โ
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.
โWell, look at God,โ she said. โMy babies done made it.โ
Elijah hugged her carefully, like she was glass.
โYou look good, Grandma.โ
โBoy, donโt lie to me. I look tired and hot.โ
Then she turned to Elias.
โYou still talkinโ slick, huh?โ
She pulled him into an embrace, patting his back twice. โHush all that and bring them bags inside.โ
The table was set with hot cornbread, chicken gumbo, rice, and sweet tea so sugary it could stop a heart.
โSit down and eat,โ Grandma commanded.
They did, after they finished praying.
Elias reached for a second biscuit too quick, and Grandma slapped his hand with a spoon.
โYou gonโ eat everything โfore it even cool down.โ
โIโm a growinโ boy!โ
Elijah choked on his gumbo trying not to laugh.
Grandma pointed her spoon at him. โAnd you. You look tired. You workinโ too many hours at that station.โ
Elijah shrugged. โJust doinโ what I gotta do.โ
โYou always โdoinโ what you gotta do.โ When you gonโ do something for yourself, hm?โ
He didnโt have an answer.
She eyed Elias next. โAnd what job you got now?โ
Elias pointed at himself. โMe?โ
โNo, the other fool named Elias sittinโ at my table.โ
โIโm between opportunities.โ
โThat mean unemployed,โ Elijah said, sipping his tea.
โThat mean blessinโs cominโ my way,โ Elias corrected.
Grandma waved him off like a fly. โYou got all that mouth, but your pockets sound like two nickels arguinโ.โ
Elijah burst out laughing, gumbo almost spilling from his spoon.
โKeep talkinโ, Elijah,โ Elias muttered. โKeep talkinโ, see where it get you.โ
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.
โStorm cominโ,โ Grandma murmured.
โYes maโam,โ Elijah agreed.
Elias stretched. โIโm fixinโ to go grab a soda from the corner store.โ
Elijah frowned. โRight now?โ
โItโs literally one minute away.โ
โStorm cominโ,โ Grandma repeated.
โI ainโt made of sugar,โ Elias said.
Grandma gave him a long, knowing look. โYou watch yourself out there. Folks round here still funny at night.โ
โGrandma, itโs not the 1920โs no moโ.โ
โAnd? Racism donโt expire.โ
Elijah stood. โIโll go with you.โ
โNah,โ Elias said quickly. โIโll be quick. Chill. I ainโt twelve.โ
Elijah hesitated. โJust keep yo phone on.โ
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.
โManโฆ this place weird as hell at night.โ
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.
โAight,โ he murmured. โNot tryna be on Dateline. Let me moveโโ
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.
โYou lost?โ the driver called.
โNah, sir. Iโm good.โ
โYou from โround here?โ
โVisiting my grandma.โ
The truck inched closer. Too close.
Elias took a small step back.
โIโm good, sir. Have a good night.โ
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 brotherโs name.
โElijahโฆโ Elias breathed.
Elijah fell to his knees, scooping him up, pressing his hand to the wound.
โWho did it?! Who did this to you?!โ
โTruckโฆ black pickupโฆ theyโ they asked me if I was lostโฆโ
Rain mixed with blood, streaking down Eliasโs body.
Elijah grabbed his phone, hands shaking.
โ911, whatโs your emergency?โ
โMy brotherโs been shot! Heโs bleedinโ badโplease send somebody!โ
โOld Mill Roadโnear Johnsonโs fieldโhurry!โ
โSirโฆ we donโt have active units available in that area.โ
โWhat? What you mean you donโtโthis is an emergency!โ
โItโs been marked a high-risk region after dark. Protocol statesโโ
โI DONโT CARE ABOUT NO DAMN PROTOCOL!โ
โIโm sorry, sir. We advise you to transport the victim to a saferโโ
The fury in him was hot and bright and animal.
โThey ainโt cominโ, huh?โ Elias whispered.
โNo,โ Elijah said through clenched teeth. โThey ainโt.โ
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. Eliasโs blood ran warm down his wrist.
โGrandma! Grandmโ!โ Elijahโs voice cracked.
But Grandma June was already halfway down the hall.
She didnโt ask questions.
Her face didnโt even change.
She simply said, in a voice steady as a church bell:
โBring him to the kitchen. Not the couch. Floor in there easier to clean.โ
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.
โGet them wet clothes off him,โ she ordered.
Elijah hesitated. โGrandma, heโs bleedinโโโ
โI said get โem off. Donโt argue me.โ
Her tone cut through the panic like a knife. Elijah stripped Eliasโs shirt away, revealing the gunshot woundโdark, 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. โGrandmaโฆ whereโd youโโ
โBeen in this family longer than you been breathinโ,โ she said.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a folded towel, placing it beneath Eliasโs head.
โElijah, hold him down.โ
Her voice didnโt shake.
Elijah stepped closer, still trembling. โHeโhe got shot on the road. They drove up on him in this truckโโ
โI figured,โ she said calmly, pouring disinfectant over a wad of cotton.
โNoโGramsโthey targeted him. Theyโโ
Her eyes cut up to him, sharp and unwavering.
โI said hold him down.โ
Grandma pressed the soaked cotton to the wound.
Elias screamed and arched off the table, but Elijah held him steady.
โI know, baby,โ she murmured, โI know it burn. But we donโt got the luxury of a doctor.โ
Elijah felt his throat tighten.
โWe called 911. They saidโ they said they couldnโt come out here.โ
โThatโs it? โSure enoughโ?โ
โYou wanted surprise?โ she said, threading the needle. โYou black, you bleedinโ, and you in the woods after dark. Ainโt nobody cominโ.โ
Her tone wasnโt bitter, just factual.
Elias gritted his teeth, voice thin. โGramsโฆ you sure you know what you doinโ?โ
A soft chuckle slipped from her lips.
โLord, child. I been stitchinโ men back together since before your mama got her first period.โ
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 didnโt 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 Eliasโs 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. โThis look like poison.โ
โIt ainโt poison if it keep you alive.โ
Elias shot Elijah a weak look. โIf I die, tell the world she killed me.โ
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 Eliasโฆ and finally exhaled.
โGramsโฆ how you know how to do all that?โ
She lifted her eyes to him, slow and tired.
โBecause this house done seen this before.โ
โYou talkinโ about Uncle Henry?โ
She only stood, walked to the front door, and locked it with a solid click.
โStorm gonโ pass soon,โ she said. โBut sit tight. Both of you.โ
Elijah nodded, still shaken, still processing.
Elias drifted into a groggy sleep against Elijahโs 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.
โElijah,โ she said without turning around.
โIโll tell yโall the rest in the morning.โ
She looked over her shoulder, eyes deep and distant.
โThe last time this house had to patch up a boy shot on that same road.โ
Elijah woke up to the smell of frying butter and something sweet โ 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.
โMorning,โ Grandma June said without looking up, stirring something on the stove in her old cast-iron skillet.
Elijah stretched and winced. โMorninโ, Grams.โ
โYou sleep?โ she asked.
โThat little enough to keep yโall from actinโ stupid today?โ she said, cutting her eyes at him with the smallest hint of threat.
Elijah huffed. โI ainโt planninโ on goinโ nowhere.โ
โGood,โ she said, sliding biscuits onto a plate. โI ainโt planninโ on buryinโ nobody.โ
Elias stirred at the table, groaning.
โDamnโฆ feel like somebody hit me with a truck.โ
Grandma thumped the back of his head lightly.
โYou got shot, fool. Donโt try to make it poetic.โ
Elias chuckled weakly. โGramsโฆ your bedside manner is terrible.โ
โIt kept you alive, didnโt it? Now sit up straight. You gonโ eat like you got some home traininโ.โ
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.
โGramsโฆ last night you said this ainโt the first time you had to do what you did.โ
โYeahโฆ you said youโd tell us today.โ
Grandma froze with her fork in midair.
Then she put it down gently and wiped her hands on a cloth.
โEat,โ she said softly. โLet me talk.โ
She leaned back, eyes drifting toward the window as if the past were standing right outside.
โWhat happened to Henry?โ Elijah asked carefully.
Grandma inhaled โ 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 theyโre 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;
โMama, you know June gonโ run off after me. She ainโt built for no cotton life neither.โ
โThat girl ainโt runninโ nowhere. She stayinโ right here with me.โ
But Henry winked at June anyway.
Later that night, against Mamaโs warnings, he said he was headinโ to Mr. Wilkesโ store for a bottle of soda pop.
โItโs dark,โ Mama said. โYou wait till morninโ.โ
โMama,โ Henry laughed, โainโt nobody out there lookinโ for me.โ
He stepped into the night, easy like he owned it.
June always remembered the sound of the screen door slapping shut behind him.
She didnโt know itโd be the last time she saw him walk unbroken.
June was sweeping the kitchen when she heard the truck first. Back in โ26, trucks were a luxury โ only certain men owned them, and those men werenโt the type Henry shouldโve been seen by after dark.
The rumble came slow down the dirt road.
Then slick laughterโmean, 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.
โJUNEโ!โ he gasped, voice breaking.
She sprinted. Her feet slapped the dirt hard enough to sting, rocks cutting her soles, but she didnโt feel any of it.
Henry collapsed before she reached him.
She caught his head, dragging him up with strength she didnโt know she had.
โMAMA!โ she screamed. โMama, HELP!โ
Mama Thompson burst out the front door in her nightgown, lantern in hand.
โLord have mercyโHenry, baby!โ
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.
โJune, get the basin.โ
โAnd the needle box.โ
โAnd the liquor from the top shelf.โ
Juneโs hands were shaking so bad she almost dropped the bottle, but her mama snatched it from her and poured it straight on Henryโs wound.
Henry screamed so loud the lamp flickered.
June nearly backed away, but her mamaโs voice snapped through the panic:
โJune. Hold him. Donโt you let go.โ
June pressed Henryโs shoulders down while her mama threaded a thick needle using the lantern light.
โMamaโcanโt we get the doctor?โ June sobbed.
Her mama didnโt look up.
โDoctors donโt ride out here for boys like Henry.โ
Then she leaned in close, eyes sharp, breath steady.
โYou watch me now. You watch how to keep a manโs insides from fallinโ out his body.โ
Watched her mother slide the needle through skin and flesh like cloth.
Watched Henry choke on his own blood.
Watched tears fall from her motherโs face onto Henryโs 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.
โHe gonโ live,โ she whispered. โFor now.โ
June pressed her forehead to Henryโs, crying into his hair.
By will, by skill, by love, by desperation.
And June learned every part of it.
She tapped the table lightly.
โThat nightโs when I learned,โ she said softly. โLearned how to stitch a wound. How to clean it. How to keep a bullet from takinโ somebody you love.โ
Elias listened with wide eyes, one hand resting gently near his bandage.
โAnd when I saw you bleedinโ yesterday,โ June went on, โI swear it felt like 1926 all over again. Same table. Same smell of blood. Same fear in my chest.โ
She touched Eliasโs cheek.
โOnly difference wasโฆ this time I knew exactly what to do. โCause my mama taught me. And her mama taught her. And nowโฆโ
she looked at Elijah and Elias with eyes too full of generations,
โโฆI pray yโall wonโt ever need to know it.โ
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.
โBoysโฆ yโall been askinโ what I meant when I said this land remembers. What I meant when I told yโall Henry wasnโt the first, and yโall wonโt be the last.โ
She stared out toward the fields; endless, green, indifferent.
โWell, let me tell yโall somethinโ. Somethinโ my mama told me, and her mama told her. Somethinโ black folks been whisperinโ to each other since the first foot touched the soil of this place.โ
โYou see these fields?โ she said softly. โThese cotton rows? These roads? These houses? This whole stretch of Mississippi soil?โ
โWellโฆ they was built on black backs. On sweat that never stopped fallinโ. On hands blistered from sunup to sundown.โ
She traced the porch rail with her finger.
โYour 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 ainโt never saw neither of โem again.โ
Elijahโs throat tightened.
Elias looked down at his hands.
โThat man,โ June went on, โstill 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.โ
โSamuel made a life. But America didnโt ever say thank you.โ
June clasped her hands together in her lap.
โYou know them old spirituals? The ones the elders still hum in church?โ
โWell, those were prayers black folks sang when all they had was breath and belief. Prayers that kept โem alive. Prayers that pushed this country closer to its own promise even when it didnโt want to keep it.โ
She hummed a few lines of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, her voice trembling like an echo through time.
โBlack folks prayed America forward even when America told โem they didnโt belong in it.โ
โYour great-uncle Marcus, your granddaddyโs 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 wouldnโt get upset.โ
Elias frowned. โWhy?โ
โโCause the same country he fought for didnโt want him walkinโ โround lookinโ like a hero.โ
โMarcus survived the French trenches but died in Mississippi, beaten by a sheriff with a badge he earned fightinโ beside white soldiers.โ
โThatโs America for black folks. A place you build, a place you pour intoโฆ but a place that donโt always claim you back.โ
โMississippi birthed the blues,โ June said, pointing toward the red clay road. โAnd the blues was born from men and women who ainโt had no justice, no rest, no mercy.โ
โYโall ever hear them old records? Son House, Charley Patton, young B.B. King?โ
Elijah nodded. โDaddy used to play โem.โ
โWell, 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 somethinโ so powerful the whole world ended up wantinโ a piece of it.โ
โBut the world rarely wanted us.โ
June rested her hand over Eliasโs.
โWhat happened to you last night, babyโฆ ainโt new. Ainโt fair. Ainโt right. But it ainโt new.โ
โAnd the rage inside you? I know it. I carried it for years after Henry got shot.โ
Elijah looked down, jaw clenched.
โBut listen to me careful,โ she said. โAmerica been makinโ black boys bury their hurt for centuries. Thatโs the requiem we livinโ in โ a mourning song sung over and over, hopinโ one day we wonโt have to sing it no more.โ
โThis country donโt stop beinโ yours just because somebody tried to tell you it ainโt.โ
Like the land itself was listening.
June placed Eliasโs hand on Elijahโs, then placed hers over both.
โYour ancestors tilled this soil. Built these houses. Fought in these wars. Birthed these stories. Raised these fields. Carved freedom outta stone.โ
โThis is your America too. Donโt you let nobody - not a bullet, not a badge, not a lie, take that from you.โ
A soft wind moved through the trees.
Juneโs voice dropped to a whisper.
โSometimes you gotta mourn the country you belong toโฆ so you can make it into the one we deserved.โ
Happy New Year yโall. 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 Iโm so excited about ๐ธ. I hope yall enjoy this fic & be sure to lemme know what you think. I love yโall. โฅ๏ธ
