Page 49 of The Deadly Candies

Listen. Come fall, Big Mama’s leaving for the church retreat. The men’ll be gone for work. I can slip away. We can try again (quieter), but there are no fire escapes this time.

CARMELO(a dark laugh)

Yeah, no jumps. Just trains. Just west.(suddenly serious)Kathy, I need a little more time. I got to get back to myself. And the money. We need money. Can you hold on for me? Can you wait for me?

KATHY (chirps up)

Yes, take all the time you need. We have the rest of our lives to be together. I just need to hear your voice to talk to you. I’ll endure anything.

CARMELO(quiet, awed)

You still my girl. Even after everything?

KATHY(softly)

You still my guy? Remember the attic, how cold it was before we turned on the ovens. How you’d touch me when we sleep? Press into me. I remember that most nights when I close my eyes. I remember because I’m your girl?—

CARMELO(cuts in, voice thick)

—I wanted to touch you more. Some nights I couldn’t sleep because I wanted to touch you so bad. Yeah.(beat, raw)Kathy, your letters… I need them. I need them so much?—

KATHY(quick, fierce whisper)

It’s okay, Melo. I’ll write more. You hear me? Whatever you need. I’myours.

CARMELO(a shaky breath)

Christ. Hearing you…(voice drops, desperate)When fall comes, we run. No matter what.

KATHY(suddenly urgent)

I gotta go. Ms. Lottie’s coming. But, Melo?—

CARMELO(quick, fierce)

I love you.

KATHY(barely a whisper, smiling through tears)

Don’t forget I’ll call again at the same time. Love you more. Love you forever.

[SOUND: THE LINE GOES DEAD. A LONG, EMPTY DIAL TONE.]

Kathy turned over in bed, the memory of the call with Carmelo playing over and over in her dreams. Woody crowed again, the rooster’s scratchy cry split the thick morning silence. Her eyes opened, and she nearly groaned to find herself back in her stale reality.

She rolled out of bed and pushed open the wooden shutters to let in the day’s first light. Butts, Mississippi was tiny – just a few dirt roads, a downtown shopping area, three churches, two schools, and endless fields stretching beyond sight of landowners. The sky in the country seemedbiggerthan in the city, a vast canvas painted in pastels every sunrise.

As Kathy gazed out, she caught sight of the Greenlee brothers walking across the fields to do their Saturday equipment checks. Mrs. Eileen, who lived in a much smaller wooden cabin next door to Big Mama tended to Big Mama’s chicken coop, apron on and kerchief tight around her hair. The people who lived on Jensen’s land and worked it had grown to at least a hundred and fifty, including school-age children.

A gentle peace hung over everything. In that moment, Kathy felt both the comfort and the ache of contrast: the land was beautiful, with dew on the cotton and magnolia blossoms scenting the breeze, yet this was also a land where her parents had to live under the unyielding rules of oppression.

Despite it all, she was finding small moments of peace—in the cricket songs at dusk, the crowing of a rooster at dawn, and the fresh breeze that flowed through every open window.

This morning, standing by the window, Kathy felt a familiar longing. She missed Harlem fiercely – the clatter of the subway underfoot, the taste of warm sugar donuts at the bakery. The bakery was where it all started. Daddy lay up in the hospital bed, recovering from King Redmond’s bullet. Her mama tended to him while she and the ladies from church ran the bakery. Carmelo handled the stocking of supplies and small tasks. Enough for them to have stolen moments that sealed her heart to his forever. To know that he was alive, strong, and their love was real—not a fleeting dream—made her so strong and grateful.

Kathy decided to put all of her thoughts to pen and paper. She sat at the little table by the window, pulled out a sheet of stationery and her fountain pen, and took a moment to gather her thoughts. The paper was precious (she had only a few sheets left), but these days, so were letters. Words were bridges in a world that felt split in two – North and South, Black and white, hope and despair. She wanted her words to be a bridge back to Carmelo, to carry a bit of her steadfast hope to be his wife someday. With a deep breath, Kathy began to write.

Kathy finished her letter with a long sigh, staring at the ink as it dried. She missed Harlemfreedom. That was until the day Debbie’s letter arrived. Tucked inside was Carmelo’s reply.

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