320. Evening, May 31, 1935

Without speaking, they sat
On the porch.

Got no crickets no more,
Riah thought. Likely drought
Had killed them all.
Seemed there should be
Crickets: or the stitch, stitch,
Stitch of the cicadas for
A lullaby, this soothing,
Drowsing night.
Riah mused on this,
With half-shut eyes.

Cool air, heat
Drained from it by the dark,
Crept the steps
And ruffled Thomas’ hair.
James breathed deeply, sleeping
On the quilt.
From the corner of her
Eye, she caught Tom
Smile down, lay his hand
Along James’ head.

Nothing need be said.
They’d planted,
It had rained, and
They must wait. Dozing,
Floating on the evening,
On the breeze….

I’ll tell Tom tomorrow,
Riah thought.
She had heard in town
The Committee seat
Had gone to Alvin Tucker.
He had acres, hundreds,
North in county. So
It had gone to him, and
Not to Tom.
Too, Riah heard from
Miss Flynn, she knew
Where Louise was headed,
And could get her in
A nursing school–
If she wanted, Miss Flynn
Could pull strings.
Well, that Committee seat.
Tom wanted that. But
Such a lovely evening
Now. Next day
Will be lots of time
To tell.

Morning’s soon enough,
Tom thought.
Not tonight–
She’s got plenty woes.
No need fretting
Mortgage troubles too.
Letter said they’d call us
For a “hearing.”
They don’t like us
Paying for the farm,
And on Relief.
I can see,
Although….

Though,
The news can sure wait
Till tomorrow.

Thomas on the porch
Began to whistle.
One of the old songs,
Content, and slow.
Joining in the stream,
She hummed along.

A moth grazed James’ cheek.
Murmuring, he flipflopped
On his back.
He laughed softly, smiling
In a dream.

They leaned toward
James, tune carrying them,
Still.
Wordless, their eyes met
Above the quilt.

   THE END