✿

may 26, 1919

The air was damp as the girl who was new to the town walked back to her grandmother's home. Dirt and rocks kicked up, dusting the hem of her dress, only adding to her taut emotions. Her eyes squinted in faux anger. Her back tensed subtly.

“I’m not lookin’ for no boy to be in my way,” Annie churned out smoothly and full of attitude. The basket on her arm—full of the herbs her grandmother had sent her into town to retrieve—swung with each sway of her hips. The pursing of her lips—full of annoyance from being followed by the eager young man—intrigued the onlooker more than it should have. He loved her attitude, the bite in her voice that got stronger and more accented the longer he stayed at her side. But he never pushed too hard. He was a constant, a warm eye that she couldn’t deny the feeling of capturing.

He grunted at her side, hands in his pocket, feet kicking up more dust as he followed.

“I’m a man,” Smoke corrected gruffly but with no real heat, “not no boy.”

“Yeah, sure,” she rolled her eyes, stuffing down a chuckle. In the distance, her grandmother’s home came into view, but her stomach churned because despite the annoyance the man could be, she didn't want her walk to be over just yet. She scoffed to remind herself how to act, adding fire to her words. “Whatever you is, you gettin’ on my nerves,” she breathed with her lips in a straight line.

“Oh, please, woman,” he laughed under his breath. The eighteen year old’s eyes shined down at her, captivated by everything she was. He shook his head once. “You know you want me,” Smoke goaded. He bumped her shoulder to provoke her to which she reacted dramatically as if he’d pushed her toward the nearby bush. The stumble caused him to roll his eyes and laugh, only moving in closer. “You let me walk wit’ you ‘cause you like me. If you didn’t, you’d have that grandmama of yours set fire under my ass before I could even get away good.”

She had no real comeback because it was true. It was true, and he wasn’t supposed to know that. Moving her basket from one hand to another, she cocked her head at the man, eyeing him up and down.

“I’m still debatin’ it honestly,” she lowered her voice to appear menacing. But she couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across her face when he leaned in once more and matched her smile with a soft one himself.

~~~~~

may 30, 1919

Annie Laveau was only in Clarksdale for the summer. With hurricane season fast approaching, she was encouraged by her mother and father to spend time with her only living grandparent. She'd finished schooling not too long ago, and with not many prospects, she had nothing to lose by learning a new place. What she didn't realize was that she had so much to gain.

The young woman had quickly found a friend, Pearline, and with Smoke always in her face, she'd also had the pleasure of meeting his twin, Stack.

Outside of her small social circle, she'd also grown closer to her grandmother in such a short span of time. She'd taken to watching the older woman as she worked in the small home that converted into her shop during work hours. Hoodoo wasn't something that her family back home practiced so intently, so she found joy learning by watching, always sure never to over step.

Her grandmama was a hardy lady. She'd been through a world of experiences that added to her solidity and grandeur. Annie admired her uprightness, how the woman moved with a grace she only hoped to possess one day.

"Alright," the older woman announced, dusting her hands off on her apron before turning quickly on her feet. She faced her customer head on, and Annie watched with astonished eyes as she relayed the notes for the man. "When you get home," she continued, words firm, "you pour this oil over a burnin’ candle. Say what you need over the flame and leave it to burn. Then you rest, ya' hear? No unnecessary movin' or yard work. Just rest."

“Yes ma’am,” the customer replied with a sharp nod of his head. He departed with a shake of the older woman’s hand and an acknowledgment to Annie, and the shop returned to quiet at once.

“You’re good at this,” Annie whispered, rising from her seat to help tidy up the work surface. She put oils back where she learned they went, tossed cloths into a hamper. Behind her, her grandmother hummed in affirmation.

“A woman always gotta find something she good at,” she sighed, a smile playing on her lips. “It helps the tough days feel a little lighter.”

The young woman took a deep breath as the words penetrated her heart. She was newly a woman—able to go long journeys without her parents at her side, able to make decisions for the life that she wanted. But she had no clue what her future held, and she had no idea what she was good at. She didn’t know much about life outside of Louisiana, and Clarksdale had been it’s own shock to her system—though welcomed.

The older woman watched with an amused gaze while anxiety grew over Annie’s body. And with one smooth look and a gentle tone full of care, all her worry was taken away.

“I know you ain’t here for long,” she sighed regretfully, already so used to the younger woman being around, “but I’ll teach you some of what I know. Maybe you’ll find something that you’re good at, huh?”

~~~~~

june 4, 1919

Smoke Moore hadn’t had an easy life; He was young with a world of trouble on his shoulders. A dead mother. A dead father. A brother he had to keep out of trouble. Trauma from a war he shouldn’t have fought in. Oftentimes, his life felt bleak, like it wasn’t going anywhere. But then he met her.

Smoke couldn't deny the fact that Annie had somehow crawled into his chest. The sight of her alone was enough to have his heart beating erratically. The sound of her voice, her laugh, her humming when she got comfortable on their walks, it all made him melt for her.

She was unlike any person he’d met before, somehow possessing the qualities that allowed him to get out of his own head. With her, he saw himself as more than the boy with no parents, the boy who’d brought the end to his father’s life before fleeing the only place he knew for war overseas. He saw himself as more than the boy who stole other folks hard-earned money to make a living for himself and his brother.

He found himself envisioning a life with Annie, how they'd get married and have babies and create a home where only love, care, and dedication reside. He wanted her, but somehow, on their walks together, he’d fallen into more of a playful friend type of role. It didn’t matter how hard he flirted, how much he cared for her, how frequently he walked her home—Annie gave him no energy back.

The man sighed begrudgingly, folded his arms across his chest as discontent made itself known on his face.

“What’s wrong wit’ you now,” the younger twin chirped out, rolling his eyes at his brother’s moodiness.

“It’s Annie,” Smoke huffed, bringing a sly grin to Stack’s face.

“You still ain’t locked that down,” he laughed incredulously, tossing his head back and smacking his knee. When Stack had first met the young woman and saw how much his brother wanted her, he’d told him, That’s the kind of woman you get by bein’ in her face all day. Fine as she is, I ain’t got time for all that. And while Stack allowed his eyes to linger between the various women he dated, Smoke had taken those words to heart.

Whenever he got the chance, he made sure Annie knew he was around. The younger of the two couldn’t believe his brother’s dedication, but he deeply respected it nonetheless.

“She different,” Smoke grunted as an excuse for how hard it had been to hold himself back. He bit the inside of his cheek when remembering the other, more real excuse. He shrugged, words raw in his throat. “And she only here for a few more months anyway. So it don't matter.”

Stack watched the emotion pass over his brother’s face, and his grin dropped to something more sincere. He shook his head in disagreement.

“It do matter,” he reasoned. “Even more reason to get y’all locked in.” Upon his declaration, he smacked his brother on the back of his shoulder. His eyes shined, sincerity quickly bleeding into hilarity. "And yo' ass ain't never had a girlfriend, so I gotta make this happen," he belly-laughed. Annie had been the only woman the older twin ever found interest in. Girls would fall all over themselves for either of the Moore brothers, but Smoke always casted his eyes aside. Of course his brother just had to go for the first girl that didn't want him bad enough to beg.

As Stack's mind went wild around an idea to get the girl of his brother's dreams, Smoke's thoughts ran to Annie.

I bet she lookin' real pretty right now, he thought to himself with a soft smile. It was nearing night, so he knew that she was home. She probably cookin' wit' her grandmama, he breathed. Or sittin' out on the porch. Or roundin' the chickens up. Or bathin'. That last thought made him flustered, mind holding on to the image much longer that he thought it should've, but he couldn't push the need to wonder away.

His thoughts of the woman didn't lead there often, but when they did, they overcame every bit of his function. Annie was beautiful, anybody with eyes could see that.

When he retired to his bed for the night, Smoke allowed his body to be lulled to sleep by the thought of her—ever prominent at the front of his mind.

~~~~~

june 15, 1919

It was a blazing night in mid summer, but every young person was itching to get out the house and into some real fun. The twins—the younger one in all honesty—we’re throwing a li’l shindig a few miles out of town. It was on an open plot of land they’d been scoping out for weeks, and Stack, propelled to assist his brother in winning Annie’s affection, finally bit the bullet and started spreading word of the party. The news went everywhere. From plantation to plantation. To Mound Bayou to Jackson. To church pews and grocery store aisles. Everybody was ready for a night of fun, and Annie had been successfully convinced by Pearline to sneak out of her grandmother’s home.

The young woman respected authority, especially her grandmama’s. Annie knew that the older woman didn’t play games and her household had rules, but when Pearline had let loose that she’d heard a couple girls talking about scooping up Smoke, she didn't even fight herself on it before caving.

Since she arrived in Clarksdale, the man had been in her face and on her ass about giving him a chance, and not once had he backed down. He was committed to whatever game she was playing. He wanted her—they both knew it—and she wanted him. For some reason, she hadn’t allowed herself to have it. Part of it could have been that she was only supposed to be in Mississippi for the summer due to hurricane season. Part of it could have been that her grandmother didn’t always have the nicest things to say about the twins. But either way, she was beginning to feel herself tear down those high ass walls brick by brick.

And she wasn't about to let some other girl have what was meant to be hers.

Stack combed the gel through his brother’s hair, both sets of eyes locked forward on their reflection in the mirror. The style was simple and polished with a practiced ease that came from years of doing the same matching hair doo every time. Their attire was similar but specific to each brother.

“When you see her, you ask her to dance,” the younger twin coached with a seriousness locked up in his cadence. “I don't care what you got goin' on. There don’t need to be nothing more important tonight than her, got it?”

“Got it,” the older twin nodded, eyes low as he tried his best to envision the night ahead.

Dress skirts and bare legs trudged through ankle height grasses to get to the function’s center. There was a bonfire, adding more heat to the night air, and around it were folks dancing to guitar strumming and low singing. Loud voices filled the scene with something messily warm—like the consequences of the night didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Annie and Pearline moved like sin. The Louisianan allowed the music to move through her just as her friend did, shoulders back and chin high, but there was an unease to her. Annie kept her head on a swivel because she was here for one reason only. While Stack was by the fire with three women hanging off his arms—all ranging in shape and color like he was in a damn wet dream—the older twin was nowhere to be seen.

Smoke could often be located in the back of rooms or off in a lone corner, but they were outside with nothing but open field around them. He could be anywhere—doing some of anything.

“You gon’ stress yourself out over that man,” Pearline crooned, voice like velvet against soft skin. Her hips moved with a tantalizing roll from her dancing.

“I ain’t worried ‘bout Smoke,” Annie rolled her eyes, crossing her arms to feign annoyance. She tried to appear like the reason she snuck out wasn’t because she’d been worried about other girls getting their hands on the man, but she found it hard to conceal the truth. Smoke had already begun to grow beneath the surface of her skin, planting himself in her system. The thought of losing that felt like a lifeline being stripped away.

She tried her best to control her emotions, but when the young woman heard an uptick in flirtatious laughter behind her, her eyes narrowed.

A woman stood close, too close, while smoke from a cigarette billowed around the man’s face. He was unamused, not giving the girl any bit of his attention, but whether it was a grunt or a low hum, she continued to find something to chuckle at. She continued to find a reason to lean into his side just a bit more.

Annie was partially right in her assumption; Smoke was off to the side of the fire where he could watch a majority of the land. He was keeping his eye on every person, every laugh, every stomp of someone’s foot as the music picked up. When she shifted her position, dancing a little deeper now that he was near—now that she knew that he could see her—their eyes met through the tall flame, blazing a hello only they could understand.

Pearline snickered because in her words, It’s only a matter of time before you give that man a chance, Annie-girl. And she was right. Because every walk on backroads was weighing her down. Every nudge to her shoulder. Every harsh word he softened just for her. Every look across a room.

The woman at his side looked appalled when the man pulled away from her. Smoke muttered something about having something to take care of because though troubled, he was never not polite. Each step worked to bring himself closer to Annie, and as he moved in, his heart thudded. Anticipation and unfettered joy mingled as one, an emotion he only experienced when in the woman’s presence. Since she’d moved into town, his body had been overwhelmed by it, but he had no complaints as he realized all he needed in life was her and the feeling she brought him.

Annie gulped at how heavy his eyes were on her. It was like he was stripping her with his gaze. Stripping away her barriers. Stripping away her clothes. She met him halfway—body hot beneath the surface because of his eyes, because of how he looked so damn good in his clothes.

His stride was long, eating up the space between them until he was standing in front of her, and Annie closed the rest of the space. Her chest pressed into his, head tilting in a question she wasn't ready to ask just yet.

~~~~~

june 16, 1919

Eighteen years old and only living with her grandmother for the summer, Annie understood the reality of things. They were young and would have miles between each other in just a few months, but she didn’t want to believe it. Last night, she’d let her guard down. The music filled her as they danced as one, her arms around his neck and his holding her closely at the waist. Their bodies melded together, sticky from the heat and open from their shared emotions. They had leaned in, Smoke more than Annie, of course, but the kiss they’d shared was mutual. It was full of want. Full of desperation. Full of months spent getting closer to the inevitable.

When the man had whispered against her lips, asking her to stay longer, she couldn’t say no. And now, he was walking her home in the early morning air. Beneath their feet was the dirt road they’d traveled too many times to count. The sun threatened to rise behind their heads, but it was still dark, too late for two young people who cared so rawly to be out alone together.

“Thank you,” Smoke whispered against the dewed morning. His eyes were looking out into the distance, Annie’s grandmama’s house coming into view. A smile sat on her face, and when the young woman looked his way, she was taken away from how soft he looked.

“For what,” she questioned, brows drifting closer together. Their arms brushed each other continuously, their bodies not knowing how to be apart anymore.

“For puttin’ up with me mostly,” he huffed out a laugh, pressing in closer. Their words were quiet to not disturb the waking world too much, but Annie’s confusion only settled deeper. “I know what people think of me,” he continued in answer. “Doin’ crime to get by. Daddy gone missin’. Goin’ to war off forged documents and too young to even have my own thoughts. My life ain’t pretty. Ain’t what I think you deserve neither—”

“I’m the only one who can say what I deserve, Elijah,” she cut in, using his given name for the first time aloud. It took him aback, the sound of it, the softness, how her voice curled around the syllables in a way that left no room for judgment.

“I’m just sayin’,” he continued exasperatedly. “When I first saw you, you was like a dream I just realized I’d been envisionin’. You been puttin’ up with me for months now, and last night was better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Yeah,” Annie whispered breathlessly, agreeing too deeply with his words. The smile on her face was enough to make Smoke’s heart explode in his chest. Neither of them could stop picturing a future where they got to do this every day—walk, talk, dream.

But then reality struck as they approached the home.

It was early, too early for Annie’s grandmother to be awake, but there on the porch, the woman sat in her rocker. Eyes bored into the two young people. The slow, steady sound of the rocker built their fear.

“Annie,” the man breathed, terrified at the way he was being watched. He’d never met the older woman, had only seen her in passing, keeping his head down because she meant business and he respected that. But now, she was watching and judging, and he was walking her granddaughter home in the near dark morning after she’d snuck out the night before.

“Just follow my lead,” she whispered, breath growing heavier as if she’d just ran a lap around the whole of Clarksdale.

Their steps faltered the closer they got, bodies grazing just once more before separating for good. The older woman had already clocked it all from afar anyway, and when they stood at the bottom of the porch steps, she’d already made her mind up.

“Go inside, Anna Mae,” her grandmother growled. Attention locked on Smoke, she sized him up, just waiting for him to back down. But his eyes never wavered. He stood before her with a straight spine, soft shoulders, head forward.

Annie was terrified for the man. Her eyes grew wide, hands flailing as her words came out broken and strangled.

“But grandmama—”

“Inside,” she hurled, finally breaking eye contact with the young man to give Annie a stern and threatening glance. The younger woman stomped her foot—just once in discontent—sending dirt into the air as she crossed her arms under her ample bosom. She turned toward Smoke, face shifting from pissed to apologetic—remorseful. Moving a step closer, she engulfed him in a hug. She squeezed tight as if it were going to be their last chance to do so, and he held on even tighter, amazed that she’d come around to him in a night. He promised himself that he’d make sure this hug wasn’t their last no matter what happened once she inevitably followed her grandmother’s instruction.

“Thank you for walkin’ me home, ‘Lijah,” she whispered in his ear, lips soft against his skin. “And thank you for last night.” The appreciation came out torn, each syllable punctuated with fear. She’d deceived her grandmother and had returned with a man she knew was deemed unsavory, but the feeling of him and his presence was too real to give up. Smoke shivered at the feeling of her breath against his ear, fingers twitching at the young woman’s sides from the feeling of her grandmother’s eyes on him.

“Oh—Of course, Annie,” he breathed, shock floating through his body.

And in a second, she was gone, disappearing into the home with a defiant stomp of her feet when passing the older woman. All light softness had been snuffed out of the morning as the two people stared at each other. The young man stepped forward, hands at his side pulling at his pants in anxiety. He cleared his throat, and his mouth fell open. But before he could get a word in, she interrupted.

“This is a household with rules,” she began.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered.

“And we do things in a particular manner,” she breathed sternly.

“As you should,” he affirmed hesitantly.

The older woman stood from her seat, and as she shifted her weight to one foot, pursed her lips, and settled her arms under her chest, she looked far too much like the young woman that had trampled into the house all angry. Her eyes took him in once more, mind thinking loudly as she weighed the consequences of her next words.

“What yo’ intentions wit’ my Anna Mae,” she wondered aloud, cadence dipping sweetly at the young girl’s birth name. And Smoke smiled to himself because he’d never actually spoken his wants aloud in such a manner. He’d been quiet in his affection—verbally only—because when people saw him walking with Annie or dancing with Annie or kissing Annie near a roaring fire, they knew his care for her. But this was different. Honesty coursed through him, the need to convey his heart’s desires helping him speak his truth.

"I have plans to court her, ma'am," Smoke choked out. And the woman's brow raised, and her face contorted into skepticism, and out of fear, he immediately continued his train of thought. "I was goin' to ask if that was okay with you," he nodded truthfully, words ripping through the morning air, "but I wasn't entirely sure she liked me very much."

"She likes you plenty," the woman bellowed, hands moving to her hips. She was ready to rip him a new one—something about how he hadn't yet made the effort to introduce himself, how she'd see him in town ducking and dodging, how he was trouble personified and her Anna Mae didn't need no trouble—but when the man's eyes drifted toward the front window and softened at the pair of eyes he met on the other side, all she could do was take a deep sigh. "Come back in the morning," she commanded, body settling back into her rocker. The sound of wood against wood filled his ears, and his expression brightened. "I wanna see you bright an' early. 'Fore my rooster crow and the world wake up. Then maybe we can talk about it."

She nodded once, keeping her face stone, not allowing the man to know what was running through her mind.

All he could think about was Annie standing at the window, curtains drawn and face red with embarrassment and adoration at the same time.

"Yes ma'am," he smiled delicately, hopefully. Just before he turned back to the road to travel in the direction of the place he laid his head, he sent a nod to the front window, and the young woman's heart swelled.

~~~~~

july 23, 1919

Smoke had come back the next day as told by Annie's grandmother, and since then, he'd been given permission to court her. That bright, early morning, the older woman had put him to work; Every one of her chores had to be completed in an extremely particular manner as she watched, noting if he huffed or sighed in annoyance—although he never did—paying attention to if his body relaxed when Annie brought him a cup of ice water—which it always did. There was no negating the fact that he had deep affection for her, so she allowed the relationship to bloom, even with the knowledge of Annie returning back home to Louisiana once hurricane season was over.

The pair of young people laid near a row of magnolias and pines, taking in the late summer breeze that worked to cool their hot skin. Annie was wearing her favorite color, blue, a color Smoke had grown fond of in his months knowing her. The dress dipped off one shoulder as she looked up at the sky through the leaves above them, taunting the man to lean in impossibly closer.

"You love to stare, don't you, Smoke," she teased, giggling to herself when he jumped at the sound of her charming voice. The young man grunted familiarly, joining her with his back to the blanket he'd brought along with their light lunch. And still, his head turned in her direction, eyes meeting her face like always.

"I told you 'bout callin' me that," he drawled in that thick accent the woman swooned for. Her smile softened in acknowledgement—because yes—he’d told her too many times to count that after he heard her utter his given name, he never wanted to be called anything else. She’d been added to a short list of individuals who could know him so deeply. She saw him for who he was past the war scars and trauma. Past the looting and destruction.

Annie hummed thoughtfully as her head turned in his direction. Fingers caressing his open palm, she considered how summer was drawing to a close and home was calling her name. But here in Clarksdale, she had a young love that was beginning to feel impossible to live without.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," she enunciated, smile bright, eyes wetting near the corners. She turned over, scooting in real close. Her head rest atop his chest, fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt, and she fully rested her body next to his. The feeling of him, strong and sturdy beneath her, had her pulse droning in a soothing beat.

Then Elijah pulled her closer.

Her leg swung over his, straddling him on both sides. Their faces were inches away, so close that their breaths mingled, tickling the edges of their mouths.

"I like seein' you above me," the man flattered, hands drifting up the young woman's outer thighs.

"I like you beneath me," she blushed. She ghosted her lips against his in a teasing manner, and when he moved forward to capture her mouth in a kiss, she pulled back with a laugh. "Tell me why you deserve it," Annie purred, hips settling down against his pelvis. Elijah groaned, teeth gritting, hands gripping the fabric of her dress.

"Because I'm good to you, baby," he swooned, jaw relaxed. He was ready to beg for it, to submit to the woman because he needed it just that much—and who was he to not submit for a woman like Anna Mae Laveau.

The young woman above him hummed, ease taking over her features, and then she leaned down, capturing him in a kiss, and he conceded.

~~~~~

august 3, 1919

When Annie met Cornbread, Grace, Bo, and Mary for the first time, her heart filled out even more.

That day, she had been in town with Pearline, checking out some fabrics at the tailor’s, when the two women stumbled upon the twins. They both looked freshly shaven and crisp, identical but with their own unique flares. Stack had a wide smile plastered on his face, taking in the sight of her and Pearl with a greedy eye. The quieter man, though, tipped his head at the young women, polite and friendly.

“Stack,” Annie greeted with a nod. She turned toward the other man, lips lifting into a knowing smile. “Elijah,” she nearly purred, voice so decadent that the man blushed, casting his eyes away in an effort to calm his beating heart.

“You two look beautiful,” Smoke commented, only looking into Annie’s eyes. Beside them, Stack and Pearline chuckled, shaking their heads.

"Thank you, Smoke," Pearline hummed, paying close attention to the way her friend gazed at the man. "What y'all up to today?"

"We havin' a li'l get together tonight," the younger twin disclosed, grin getting larger. He moved into Pearline's side, bumping her shoulder while looking her up and down. His teeth tugged on his bottom lip, head tilting to the side. "Y'all wanna come?"

"I ain't tryna be no where wit' you if you gon' be flirtin' with me, Stack," Pearline turned her nose up. "Especially if Mary there," she added, crossing her arms.

The man huffed, moving back toward his brother who was too concerned with making eyes at Annie—who was too concerned with imagining having Smoke all to herself.

Elijah raised an eyebrow, quietly questioning the woman. A feeling crept into his body, a flutter in his stomach, an expanding in his chest. When he was around her, Smoke felt like he was constantly having to hold himself back. His adoration for her was a consistent emotion that only wanted to make itself know. He was eager and desperate for more time with her, greedy for her attention.

And Annie was willing to give it to him. She didn't allow their eye contact to waver. Her fingers twitched at her side. Her feet itched to move in his direction.

"We'll be there," she answered aloud for both of the young women, cheesing at the man who was overjoyed by her answer.

The young girl didn't have to sneak out this time around. Since Elijah had been in her grandmother's good graces—helping around the house and speaking each time he walked Annie home—she felt that he was to be trusted. And aside from that, Annie had promised to not be out late. Promised to stay near Pearline. Promised not to come home pregnant.

“Well, you must be the girl Smoke be spendin’ all his time daydreamin’ ‘bout,” Annie heard as she and Pearline entered the lively farmhouse. The voice belonged to a man who was tall and sturdy with a way about him that easily pulled laughter from the back of her throat. And his words didn't even bring her pause. She drifted her eyes to the man behind him, quiet as always and staring with that usual brooding need.

"I think I might be," she chuckled, paying close attention as Smoke's face grew a bashful smile. "Annie," she greeted with a hand out, learning that the man's name was Cornelius—though everybody called him Cornbread.

She met Bo and Grace next, a young couple around her age who were falling all over each other in love. She couldn't help but to envision being like that—carefree.

Then she met Mary. She was slightly younger, spry and with her nose wide open for Stack who seemed to enjoy every ounce of attention she gave him. The girl's mother owned the farmhouse they were hanging out in, and as Annie eyed her curiously, she understood a lot from what was not being said.

The night was fun—so fun that she forgot what the future held. Those moments—laughing with new friends, dancing with a man that was becoming tangled in her heart—made her feel alive in a way she hadn't experienced before.

But soon, reality would come crashing in.

~~~~~

august 21, 1919

“My mama wrote to me a few days ago,” Annie announced, cadence slow like the words themselves were not ready to leave her mouth. Her body language was taut, less inviting with the onslaught of emotions. She cleared her throat. “She said the worst of the weather is over. That I can come back home.”

The man said nothing. He just simply looked ahead, face dejected.

“I’m leavin’ at the top of the month, ‘Lijah” the young woman concluded, eyes on her hands. She pulled at her fingers, twisting a ring around one of them to give herself anything to keep her focus on. If she thought about it too long, she’d say something she regretted—three words that felt inappropriate and somehow inadequate for the moment. Her emotions were too big, and Elijah still hadn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed eventually, and instead of opening his mouth, the man reached over, tangling their fingers together.

~~~~~

september 1, 1919

Dust filled the air of the train station to the point that it felt like their lungs were coated in grit. Their mouths were dry, eyes wet.

Smoke stood off to the side as Annie said her goodbyes, hugging her grandmother and her friends—Stack and Pearline. She’d said farewell to Cornbread, Grace, Bo, and Mary yesterday, and that was filled with just as much emotion as now. The man was wiping his face when the young woman pulled away from Pearline’s hug, and their eyes met on instinct.

“You just gon’ stand there,” Annie questioned in a lilt, head cocked to the side, hands meeting her hips. And Elijah didn’t respond with words; He simply engulfed her, arms circling her torso, face landing in her neck. As Annie held him close, it felt like they were the only two people that mattered, that everybody else who was leaving their loved ones didn’t exist.

“Elijah,” the young woman’s voice cracked. She felt tears wet her skin and the fabric of her dress the deeper the young man sank into her, but she just held him closer, her cries matching his.

~~~~~

october 4, 1919

Being apart for just one month, Smoke felt he was spinning off his axis.

He remembered the day clearly: waking up at the ass crack of dawn, trudging over to Annie’s grandmother’s, knocking on the door with sad eyes, walking her, her grandmother, Pearline, and Stack to the train station, and sending her off with tears in his eyes. He had kissed her after, after crying in her neck, and he had promised to write to her. But he wasn’t the best writer—or reader, for that matter. With his upbringing and joining the war so young, school was never a stable environment for him. He did what he could, got by ‘cause that’s how a lot of people lived in Clarksdale. But he committed to doing it for her, to learning.

It seemed the man was writing every damn day once he got the hang of it. He’d tell her all about his day, how he still helped her grandmama with chores, how he committed himself to visiting her everyday, how Stack was still planning his elaborate parties with dreams of making it a career someday. And she wrote him back just as much as he wrote her. Annie’s letters were full of stories about the bayou and what city life was like on the weekends. She’d send him kisses pressed to paper with incantations written in the margins—all of it flooded with her love.

It wasn’t practical, but it was necessary, and it worked for them. For now.

Annie was doing her own spinning and spiraling because since she’d gotten back from Mississippi, home just hadn’t felt like home. She thought of her grandmother often—her soft sternness that meant well, her lessons in hoodoo that had become incorporated in her everyday life now. She thought of her Elijah—his gruff delicate nature that soothed every part of her being, his kisses beneath magnolia trees that still blazed against her lips.

She stared at his most recent letter, full of pressed flowers and his words of love. He wrote of how he missed her and her eyes and her smell and her body and her kisses. The casualness of it made her chest burn, lower stomach sizzling right alongside it as she remembered the last time their bodies had been close. She missed him—terribly. But even then, there was more to Clarksdale than Elijah Moore.

She had friends there, Pearline specifically. She had connections to the people and the land that she couldn’t give up. In the summer she’d been there, she and the town had become woven in a way. There was no going back to how her heart beat before she knew Clarksdale.

~~~~~

october 16, 1919

The young woman writhed against her bedsheets. She tossed and turned and fought herself to find a comfortable position to lay, but there appeared to be none. The air was damp and hot, the space between her legs meeting the feeling head on.

In her attempt to sleep, she allowed herself to picture Elijah, and in picturing him, she got real imaginative. The pair hadn't done anything obscene together. Their interactions had been marked by chasteness, but beneath it all, need clawed to be let out.

Annie's hand drifted to the hem of her nightgown, toying with the idea to seek her own body out. Fingers light and curious, she felt at the fabric of her panties, gasping in surprise at what she found. And after that first touch, she was unable to deny herself any longer.

The pads of her fingers circled her clit, tight swirls driving her crazy. She imagined them to belong to Smoke. In her mind, he was being all gentle to make sure she was okay, but when her fingers pressed into her button in indecent need, she imagined him to have become greedy by the small cries she was letting out.

She whispered his name—in her head only because she couldn't imagine what would happen if she said it aloud. Like a spell or a chant or a cry laced with intent.

She worked herself to the edge, and when she was ready, she imagined Elijah breathing a command into her ear: a small let go for me.

And she did.

~~~~~

october 28, 1919

The longer Annie spent in Louisiana, the more she dreamed of Clarksdale. Her body was attuned to the spiritual world, and every night—when she wasn't thinking about fucking Elijah—she fell into elaborate dreams about the lives of people in the town she missed dearly. The man's letters were certainly helping her in doing that. Not once had they slowed in frequency or dipped in quality.

In his most recent letter, though, the man had expressed concern that he was holding up her life, that she could do better than him—because Elijah always thought that she could do better than him. He told her that he wouldn’t crucify her for entertaining another man, and he couldn’t be mad because he felt like he was wasting her time.

And the letter had propelled Annie into a heap of dreams about Sad Ole Elijah, crying and writing letters just to pass the time before he heard from her again. And Sad Ole Elijah seeing Annie return after five, ten, fifteen years apart with a new man on her arm. And Sad Ole Annie foolishly trying to fill an Elijah shaped hole in her heart.

There was no one for her but him, no one for him but her, and she resented him for thinking so.

She expressed as much in her next letter, how she don’t need no man but you and how you selfish to just push me off on somebody else ‘cause you feel bad. It wasn’t fair, but it was how she felt, and Annie never held back her feelings for no man.

~~~~~

november 1, 1919

Smoke received it one early November morning, right after visiting with Annie’s grandmother and right before he went to run the streets with his brother. He felt his heart pitch, confusion and dread mingling with his fear. He was just trying to do what was right. Never once did he plan to stop being there for her. Never once did he plan to stop his care for her—what had turned from care and into love right before his eyes—but she was pissed, and he honored that.

His hand crumpled the page's edge, her words of anger splayed there in all their honesty.

He didn’t write back all at once. He gave himself time to think—the length of the rest of the day—and when the sun dipped, he got to spilling every crazed emotion just for her.

Annie, I ain't never meant to offend ya'. I just want the best for ya'. I want you to have a good life. If that's with me, then thank God. If it's not, then I just want you happy, healthy, safe. You mean the world to me, Ann. You my friend. You my heart. You my love. You my comfort. And you will always have me in yo' life no matter what. I love you Anna Mae. Yours 'til death, Elijah M.

~~~~~

november 18, 1919

Annie didn't write back, and Elijah didn't stop writing.

He isolated himself, spent weeks with his nose to the paper. He didn't want to overwhelm her, so the most heartfelt letters were kept to himself, but the others were sent back to back—day after day. He wrote of his day: what he had planned and what he'd already done; what he'd eaten and what he wished he could eat—usually her cooking; what her grandmother was up to and what crazy chores she had him doing to keep him out of trouble. He kept things light—but personal—and she still didn't write him back.

For more than a week, he felt his chest caving in. An agonizing feeling was making its way into his system, and he felt that without her, he would simply become a husk of himself.

That morning, he stayed in bed past sunrise—past the rooster call and the rising of day. He didn't eat—couldn't; Half the time, it barely felt he could breathe at all. His heart grew heavy as he willed himself out of bed, the afternoon sun already high, but he knew he had to go to the woman's home eventually. His body was riddled with last night's sleeplessness. He was a vision of exhaustion and sadness and hopelessness and lovesickness. And when he walked out into the sun, he was blinded by the crisp day.

Each step to Annie's grandmother's house felt like dread. He'd missed the morning chores without notice, and since he'd been visiting with the woman daily, he could already imagine the mix of worry and disappointment on her face when she saw the state that he was in. He had worked to conceal his hurt while around her. He didn't want to appear pathetic, though he felt he was.

Every thought he had was of Annie.

Every dream he dreamt was of Annie.

And he felt that he had ruined it with an ease he didn't quite understand yet.

The walk reminded him of when he'd stroll beside the young woman with a grin and a brush too close to her arm. He remembered her rough exhales when pretending to dislike his advances, her light laughs when she allowed herself to give in just once. The house stood in the distance, and the closer he got, the more he felt like falling apart.

Annie's grandmother was in her rocker, as always, the steady sound of wood against wood flitting past his ears. She worked at something in her hands: a beaded necklace—white and blue in color. His breath caught in his throat before she even met his eyes, and just as she did, the screen opened to a view of the woman he'd missed dearly.

Annie stood there, glass of sweet tea passing between her hand and her grandmother's hand. Then she turned to him, fists settling on her waist as she cocked her hip to the side.

Smoke felt sick in the best way.

He could reach out and touch her.

He could smell her.

He could taste her—if she allowed.

Months apart began to feel like they hadn't been a thing at all because here she was—in the flesh, looking all pretty in their favorite color. Blue.

Smoke wasted no time in speeding from his spot in the road to where she stood on the porch. He engulfed her, hugging her deeply and scooping her body up in his arms. He lifted her from the ground, pulling a surprised squeal from her throat and not even caring about it. He held her like she was his lifeline, and she accepted it, burying her face in the side of his neck while tears weld up in her eyes.

~~~~~

november 21, 1919

"You don't get to tell me what I need, Elijah," Annie reprimanded, finally allowing the man to know why she decided to come back, why she decided to stay in Clarksdale for good. "That letter pissed me off because you are good enough for me. You are perfect for me, and there ain't nobody on God's green earth that can take the place you've made in my heart." She shook her head, eyes wild in confusion and hurt. Smoke bit back a whine, emotion building in his chest.

"I feel the same way 'bout you," he admitted, moving forward and attempting to touch her waist. But the young woman moved away, holding her hand up between them.

"Then why did you write the letter," she questioned. "Why do you keep actin' like better is waitin' for me when you right here?"

"Because, Annie," he breathed, throat tight, "I ain't shit. I don't have nothing to offer you. No money. No real job 'less you count the bullshit me and Stack do."

"I don't want no money, Elijah," she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms, "I want you. The good and the bad. No matter what that means."

"Baby—"

"I wouldn't have come back if I didn't want that with you," she tried again, words strangled. "I know about yo' mama and daddy. I know what you did. I know why you had to leave. And I know how you and Stack gotta get by. That shit don't scare me."

"Annie—"

"I want you, Elijah," she interrupted once more. "I love you. Nobody else."

And that cemented it—because there was nothing he could do to change her mind because when Annie made a decision, she was sticking to it. And even then, there was no way he could deny her wants when he needed the same thing just as bad.

~~~~~

december 7, 1919

Tension grew as the pair got closer.

There was no longer the impending doom of Annie returning to Louisiana. She was in Mississippi to stay—for good now—and they used that knowledge to their advantage.

Nearly every moment was spent at each other's side.

At Annie's home. At Smoke's.

There was no logical reason to hold back. So their hands explored each other's bodies. And their fear bled away into yearning—a craving for the other person and a drive to meet that need.

~~~~~

december 17, 1919

“Elijah,” the woman cried, voice straining around his name in a way it hadn’t before. It made the man’s body unfurl, emotions spiking deep in his gut. He kissed along the side of her neck, holding her close because even with the wood stove warming his small home, it was freezing. They removed layer after layer of clothing, settling under thick blankets in a hurry. She whispered his name against his forehead when he moved between her legs, and he whimpered hers back when he felt like her warmth and sweetness was going to be the death of him.

Neither of the two young adults had ever been in this position, this bare and close to another person. Their chests heaved at the thought of coming undone at the hands of another. They writhed at the novice touching of fingers to trembling skin. Annie trailed her hand down Elijah’s chest, spurring the man to move his hand to her hip. He let her touch, let her explore, and when her hand slipped from his stomach to the dense patch of hair between his legs, he moaned spiritly.

“Baby,” he gasped, nails piercing her skin. His pelvis flinched into her palm, sparking a gentle curious laugh out of the woman. And she followed her instinct to track the line of his body. Smoke’s face was in her neck when Annie wrapped her hand around his length. She squeezed gently, stroked it just once before guiding him to her folds.

The delicate, wet feeling of her meeting the throbbing, harsh feeling of him had their minds spiraling beautifully. When Annie directed him toward her entrance and nodded for him to continue, that was enough to have them both holding onto each other for dear life.

“Annie,” he spoke her name like it was the only word he knew. “Annie,” he spoke her name like she was capable of saving him from himself. His stomach clenched at the feeling of her soft walls surrounding him, and he wasn’t even all the way in, and he wasn’t even moving yet.

The young woman laid beneath him, eyebrows scrunched because what was this pressure?

She’d never felt anything like, and, sure, she’d touched herself before—often to the thought of the man above her—but she’d never felt something so intrusive yet inviting at the same time. She felt herself pulse around him, hips raising curiously only to recoil from the pain. Elijah was immediately moving to correct the harm he felt he’d done to his lover, palms coming to each side of her face before he attempted to shift away, but Annie halted him.

“Don’t move,” she whispered into the cold two room home. The whine came out before she could stop it, arms reaching around the man’s neck and pulling him down to lay flush against her body. “I want you here. Right here,” she demanded softly, rolling her hips to find comfort where the man had landed.

“O-okay,” Elijah trembled, trying his best to keep himself in tact. But his chin brushed the tops of her bare breasts and his hands sat at the sides of her ass and his dick just barely penetrated her walls.

They stayed like that. Just like that. Unmoving until they were both ready for more.

~~~~~

december 31, 1919

The pair rang in the new year together with a small group of family and friends. Stack, Mary, Cornbread, Bo, Grace, Pearline. They all piled over to Annie’s grandmother’s house because she and the older woman felt a hankering for a big meal. Greens, black eyed peas, and cornbread were the most important dishes to any New Year’s feast. They brought fortune, good luck, and money, so the two hoodoo women made sure that the people they cared about most were taken good care of.

Everyone sat around the dinner table, laughing bright and loud like they didn’t know no other way of being. But Elijah and Annie were in their own world. Their hands grazed under the table, bodies existing as one. Smoke would lean in real close, nudge Annie’s shoulder or whisper in her ear, and the woman would giggle bashfully and fight to hide her smile.

Across the table, the elder’s face held a grin. She nodded to herself, hopeful for the young couple’s future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

word count: ~9,000

a/n: this is successfully revitalizing meeee

taglist: comment HERE to be added!

“You’re making this so damn difficult.” you groaned, but gave in anyway. You let Michael take your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles while he held your gaze.

“Y’know,” Michael began, his dark brown eyes softening.

“Sometime I’m gonna take you out, on an actual date. somewhere real fancy. no more hidin’ from everybody, yeah?” you nodded, a gentle smile on your lips that he mirrored.

“Is that before or after my father kills you for sneakin’ around with his daughter all this time?” you teased, which the boy only smiled at.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” you laughed, leaning back in to kiss him, which he eagerly returned.

You lost yourself in the moment, the warmth of Michael's hands trailing your waist, his mouth moving against yours with urgency. Michael tilted his head to further deepen the kiss with passion that you gladly mirrored. A soft sound escapes your lips, which only egged him on as his slender hands drifted to the small of your back, pulling you close enough that your hips harshly knocked into his.

Michael pulled away from your lips, moving down to press kisses along your jawline and the curve of your neck. You closed your eyes, inhaling shaky breaths as you rested your hands at the nape of his neck, urging him closer.

“Michael…” you murmured unintentionally, and you could feel him smile against your collarbone while he continued to plant open-mouth kisses that would definitely leave marks later. Michael’s hands slid down to your thighs, —the familiar warmth of his skin on yours was a feeling that you would never take for granted. Gripping your plush skin firmly, he pressed you against the wall, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso.

You almost didn’t notice the sound of the rooftop access door swinging open, and the voices of multiple boys overlapping.

“He’s gotta be up here, man.”

“Yeah, Randy, you’ve only said it about twenty times.”

“Man, shut up!”

“Michael! You up here!?”

You and Michael jumped apart like you’d been burned, red-faced and breathless. You slapped a hand over your mouth, and he made a shushing gesture with his finger. You ducked around the corner of the bulkhead as Michael smoothed his collar quickly, stepping out from the shadows of the concrete structure to meet his brothers.

“What’s goin’ on, guys?” 

Despite the situation, you almost laughed at how unnatural the boy sounded.

“Mike! Where you been, man? We’ve been runnin’ around looking for you for ten minutes!”

“C’mon, Mike. Q’s already pissed off ‘cause he can’t find his daughter nowhere either.”

You heard him sheepishly chuckle, muttering a small ‘sorry’, then the sound of Michael's footsteps retreating, along with his brothers’.

To see if the coast was finally clear, you peeked out from behind the bulkhead, only to meet the eyes of the boy you recognized as Michael's older brother, Marlon, who looked straight at you with a knowing smirk on his lips. You could’ve sworn your heart dropped to your ass.

“Marlon, come on, man!” someone shouted, causing his head to whip to the side.

“Coming!” he looked back at you, making a ‘zip’ motion across his lips before darting off.

Shit.