Honor

She sat in the darkened room rocking in front of the open window. The curtains swelled and ebbed, pushed by a intolerably warm breeze. Small streaks of light filtered in dancing on the floor and opposite wall. A tiny grasshopper suddenly appeared on the windowsill. His sleek green body perched for a moment— he rubbed his back legs together, then sprang away

Pushing against the cradle with her foot, she listened to the rhythmic breathing of the infant. Except for an occasional deep breath, his breathing matched the echo of the wooden rockers on her chair. When the curtains bellowed high enough, she could see the sun setting. Streaks of orange and scarlet formed grotesque shapes reminding her of the painful pounding in her breast.

A year ago, she was a girl . . . still a child, impulsively seeking to satisfy the unnamed feelings stirring within her. The memories floated like fog through an early autumn morning, then slipped back to a sweltering afternoon one day last summer. In her mind, she saw herself sitting on the front veranda watching the colored girls playing near the well. She remembered them lowering the bucket into the well until they heard the clunk of the bucket hitting the hard, dry bottom.

"Get away from there! Go on, shooo!" She didn’t know whether it was the heat or the noise that exasperated her so. The girls took flight, giggling as they disappeared around the coral.

Don’t know any sane person who’d choose to live in this forsaken place. She looked over toward the shed, then continued in her thoughts. This place’s goin to be my undoin. Her gaze rested beyond the shed. The baron landscape glared back . . . . dirt and buildings, and pole fences. Off in the distance, brown weeds and over-friendly cockle-burrs that clung stubbornly to the hem of her long skirt, and beyond that— nothing. The road that led to the watering hole had cracked absorbing the heat. The sun-baked earth smiled with an open-faced grin.

"Clarianne! Missy, you get yourself out of the sun. You know what it does to you. Your Papa won’t be a bit happy— "

"Papa’s not here, Sarai. How’s he goin to know if I get sun-burned? He won’t be home for another week."

"If you get sick from the sun it’s my hide he’ll tan. It’s a good thing he’ll be send’n you off to that new school— ain’t no one out here your own age. Scoot now!"

As Sarai left, Clarianne lingered for a moment, still looking out toward the road that led to the watering hole. She loved seeing her own image in the water. Papa told her she got her blond hair from her aunt Emma. She’d never met her aunt Emma. She sucked in her breath as she turned to go in, but Sarai had gone inside already so she stopped and held tight to the column that hid her from the front window.

There Clarianne watched as Abashaun appeared around the outbuildings and approached the kitchen entrance to the side of the house. His tall, brown frame dwarfed the two wooden buckets he carried and yet, he stepped carefully not wanting to spill even a drop of precious water. She watched him disappear into the kitchen for a brief moment and then, reappear. Casting a lingering glance in her direction, he slowed, nearly stopping at one point, but then, disappeared around the buildings again.

Early the next morning, as the sun came up, Clarianne woke, pulling the cover over her head. Bright rays came in through her open window. Already, a warm breeze invaded. She heard someone moving around outside. Recognizing the movement, she smiled, leaped from her bed and ran to the window. Leaning against the column outside her window, Abashaun stood with his hands in his pockets. He looked shiny and clean, even his bare feet. His black hair was still dripping. His dark eyes sparkled and yet he stood, saying nothing . . . smiling.

"Abashaun, where did you get the water?"

"I don’t have to tell you nothin." His words came out slow and smooth.

"If you get caught stealing water, you’ll get skinned alive."

"And who’s gonna do the skinnin . . . you? Where were you last night?"

" I couldn’t get away."

"I waited ‘n waited, you never came— you better be there tonight."

"Maybe I have something better to do." Clarianne twisted to one side just a little, smiling.

"You don’t have nothin better to do!" His smile broadened.

"Shoo! I hear Sarai coming." She turned from the window.

"Missy, what you doin up this early?"

"It’s too warm already, I couldn’t sleep. Is there any water for bathing?"

"You know better ‘n that. We haven’t had bathin water for goin on two weeks now. Hurry and dress. . . there’s still hot food in the kitchen from the early breakfast."

That night, Clarianne waited until nearly midnight, then let herself out through the open window. She snuck across the veranda and down toward the road to the watering hole. Once there, she hid in the tall weeds and waited. It seemed like a long time ago now . . . a lifetime ago. Clarianne sighed. She watched the fading streak of light dancing on the floor and listened for the breathing of the infant.