Page 56 of The Deadly Candies

For a moment, she felt like the only girl in the world under Ely’s gaze.

She dropped her eyes.

“Here, let me take that,” Ely said, reaching for the basket. “That must be heavy.”

“Sure is. That was a long walk,” Kathy admitted. “Had to stop a few times.”

“I bet,” Ely chuckled. “I guess Janey couldn’t help, what with that umbrella and all.”

Kathy smirked and shook her head.

Over near the men, someone dragged out a rickety wooden chair for Janey to sit in. She plopped down with a dramatic sigh, fanning herself and complaining about the heat.

“She said she’s here to stay,” Kathy murmured.

Ely’s brow lifted slightly. “Really?That’s interesting.”

“Hey, Milton,” Ely called, “start passin’ this out to the boys.”

“Sure thing!” Milton said, grabbing a basket.

Ely turned his attention back to Kathy, lowering his voice. “You don’t need to be walkin’ in these woods by yourself,” he warned. “Not only will the boars and wild cats get you, but thespookstoo.”

He winked.

Kathy nodded, understanding his meaning instantly. The black folks in Butts were deeply religious, but where there was faith, there was also fear—superstition woven into the very fabric of their beliefs.

These farms had once been plantations, the land soaked in blood, and the woods beyond them held stories no one dared to speak too loud.

Too much suffering. Too much death.

At night, the fireflies flickering through the trees weren’t just bugs—not to the old folks. They were watchful eyes, souls lost in the darkness. Some said they were the spirits of the enslaved, still searching for a way home. Others swore they were the ghosts of those who had it coming—bastard landowners who had vanished into the night when the misery they created became too much to bear.

Out in these woods, there were things both real and whispered in fear.

Either way, Kathy wasn’t about to test the theories.

As the men gathered around for food, Janey held court like a queen, laughing lightly, making them all feel like they were the only one in the room.

Kathy, needing space, wandered toward the schoolhouse.

The walls and roof were up, but most of the work left was inside.

“What color we painting it?” she called over her shoulder.

“White,” Ely answered, mouth full of biscuit.

Kathy frowned. “It should be blue.”

The men around Ely snorted.

Ely shook his head, grinning. “Ain’t no schoolhouse the color blue. It’s white or red.”

“Blue!” Kathy insisted. “This is our schoolhouse. It’s better than the shack they had for our people. The kids should feel special when they come here. We do it our way.Blue.Not some ugly blue, either. The blue from the rainbow—bright and shimmery.”

The laughter died down.

Ely stopped chewing, watching her.

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