Hot Valley by James Lear

thank you, ma’am, that was a good breakfast. Now I must be on my way.”
    â€œWhere you headed?”
    â€œSouth.” I gestured vaguely in that direction.
    â€œNot planning to stick around? I could…we could use a hired hand. You could sleep in the barn, it’s warm and dry, and we’d feed you and…well, I can’t pay you but…we’d look after you. What do you say?”
    I was astonished, and sorry to let her down. “I’m afraid I can’t stay around here,” I said. “And it wouldn’t be good for you either. There’s too many who take exception to the color of my skin.”
    â€œThe Lord says it don’t matter.”
    â€œPeople have a way of ignoring what the Lord says, ma’am. That’s why we’re fighting a war against our brothers.”
    Her hands hung down by her side, and her face crumpled. And then, in a gesture she had made a dozen times before, she pushed back her hair, straightened herself up, and swallowed her grief. “Well,” she said, “we live in wicked times, that’s for sure. And when my husband gets back from the—” She looked crestfallen, as if she’d given away too much.
    â€œFrom the lower field, ma’am?” I said.
    â€œYes, from the lower field,” she said, smiling for the first time. “Well, then we’ll get this place going again, and we’ll be fine with our neighbors, and you’ll come back and we’ll show you our gratitude for your kindness. But till then, there’s nothing I can give you. Unless you want my dog. Can’t eat him, he don’t give milk or lay eggs, and he ain’t much use as a guard.”
    â€œThanks, but I prefer to travel alone.”

    â€œYou could stay for a night, maybe?”
    I saw the loneliness and fear that made up her day-to-day life. I might have stayed there, licked the farm into shape, kept her safe—but how long before I was chased out of town again? And this time they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. A black man shacked up with a white woman? It was their favorite nightmare.
    â€œThanks, but I better be moving along.”
    â€œWait,” she said, and ran into the house. When she came down, she had a rolled blanket under her arm. “Here’s a few things I don’t need no more. You can keep them or sell them, whatever…”
    The roll was bulky. I could see from the expression on her face that it was best not to look inside it just now. Instead I expressed my thanks, and walked on, with many glances back to that brave, lonely woman as she stood, watching and waving, at her kitchen door.
    Regaining the relative shelter of the woods, I unrolled the blanket and took stock of its contents. Two clean white shirts, a pair of pants, a pair of thick woolen socks, and even, to my astonishment, a large hunting knife. I took it from its sheath and felt the edge; it was as sharp as a razor.
    And so I found at my first stop several of the necessities of life, but I was still lacking a few essentials. I knew I had to move quickly; word of my presence in such a small community would soon get around, and I was reluctant to travel much further on foot. A horse was at the top of my shopping list.
    Keeping to the woods, I skirted two more farms where the yards were busy, the comings and goings too regular. I had not consciously decided that I was going to steal a horse; the plan seemed, instead, to have formed itself in my head without my wishing it.
    Finally, I came upon a house at the far end of the village; like the first, it had that unkempt, wartime look that spoke of absent men and struggling women. There was a stable building, and the unmistakable scent of horse shit.
    Dropping down behind the house to avoid being seen from the windows, I ran quietly to the stable and looked in. There were three horses in there, all sound-looking animals. And there was something else: a stable boy. He was