Page 107 of A Boy Called Lovesong

Hettie cackled. “Oh, you knows me. I was here the night you killed Harper. I saws what you did. I followed you into the bayou. And I found your gun.”

The reverend’s wife’s eyes narrowed. “Hettie? Is that you?”

“Oh, remember now. I used to cook for you. I used to serve you up supper. Well guess what… tonight I’s gonna serve you upforsupper.” She clicked the hammer on her pistol. “My gators be hungry.”

With a squeeze of the trigger, Hettie fired a single shot…

Straight between the eyes of the reverend’s wife.

With a thud, the reverend’s wife dropped to her knees.

Her shoulders slumped.

Her arms went limp.

She dropped her pistol, and in a cloud of dust she fell face down on the crossroads, dead.

I scrambled over to Lovesong.

I sat his head in my lap, holding his cheeks, tears flowing as I whispered, “Don’t die, Lovesong. I can’t lose you. I can’t do this again. God, please don’t let him die.”

Just then, the clouds opened.

Rain began to fall, hard and heavy.

Hettie hurried over and dropped to her knees beside me, the downpour washing away the dirt on her face, so at least I could see the person beneath the mud.

I could see the kindness in her eyes.

She smiled, reached down to Lovesong’s shirt pocket, and pulled out the two silver spoons that Iggy had exchanged for the harmonica. They glistened in the rain, and suddenly I saw it—

There was the bullet, lodged in one of the spoons.

As the rain soaked us, Lovesong suddenly coughed.

His body jolted, and with a look of shock on his drenched face he sat upright and gasped for air.

The first words out of his mouth were, “Noah? Noah, where are you? Noah, whe—”

“I’m here, I’m here. I’m right here.”

I wrapped my arms around him.

I planted my lips on his.

And as the rain washed away our tears, we kissed.

Hettie stood, the spoons still in her hands, and said, “I think these belong to Iggy. I’s be sure to give ’em back… if I’s ever seen him again. Sumpin’ tells me his work here be done.”

Lovesong pulled out of our kiss. “Hettie? Hettie, is that you?”

“No sir, it ain’t me at all,” she giggled. “Hettie weren’t never here. Now’s if y’all excuse me, I’s havin’ some friends over tonight. Time I go and get supper ready for ’em.”

With that, Hettie took hold of the reverend’s wife by the ankles and slowly dragged her body into the cotton fields, heading in the direction of the bayou.

Lovesong’s fingers touched my face. “Are you okay? Noah, tell me you’re okay.”

With his hands on my cheek, I nodded. “Yes.”

---