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respect for the old folks. None at all.”
    “Well, I’m sho’ gone tell her,” Clayton said.
    “Good,” Miss Hannah said. “ ‘Cause I know Fred raised him better than that.”
    “He gone git on ‘im,” Clayton assured her. “Soon as he find out, he gone git on ‘im. You can count on that.”
    “He need to.”
    “Well, I’m gone run.”
    “You gone take supper with us this evening, ain’t you?”
    “Thank you, but I’m gone have to pass.”
    “You know you mo’ than welcome.”
    “Some other time.”
    “I’m gone hold you to that.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I know you will.”
    Tyrone heard the screen door open and close.
    “Brother Clayton.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Thank you, hear.”
    “Aw, you welcome.”

Chapter
7
    N ot long after Mr. Clayton left, Tyrone heard Sarah Ann in the kitchen preparing lunch. He did not hear her pass in the hall, so either he had dozed off or she had walked around the house and entered through the back door. Though he did not see her pass, he knew it was her. For that was the routine. Not only did she prepare their mother’s lunch, but she also ran her errands and helped with her laundry. René, on the other hand, cooked breakfast before she went to work (she kept house for one of the local white merchants) and she cooked dinner when she returned. Their father had taken care of the yard, but since he passed, Jimmy had taken over those responsibilities. He washed dishes at the hospital during the week and tended the yard during the weekend.
    Tyrone heard a noise, and he went to the door and saw his mother easing down the dim hallway, leaning against the wall for support.
    “Did I wake you up, honey?” she asked as soon as she saw him.
    “No, ma’am,” he told her. “I wasn’t asleep.”
    She eased closer, and Tyrone stepped into the hallway.
    “You need some help, Mama?” he asked, extending his hand in her direction.
    “Naw, baby,” she said softly. “I’m just going to the restroom. I can make it.”
    She pulled up even with him, and Tyrone stepped aside to allow her to pass.
    “You gone try to eat something now, ain’t you?” she asked.
    “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll try.”
    The kitchen was toward the back of the house. There was only one room farther back, and that was René’s room. Past her room was the door leading into the backyard. The outer door was open, and Tyrone could feel a cool breeze circulating through the screen door, cooling the hall. He turned into the kitchen and saw Sarah Ann standing in front of the stove. Her back was to him, but he could see that she was frying potatoes in a cast-iron skillet. Like most of the house, the kitchen was simply constructed and sparsely furnished. It was a rather large, rectangular room. There was a table and four chairs in the corner next to the rear window. The make of the table was not readily discernible, for it was covered with a simple white tablecloth that hung nearly to the floor. Besides the stove, the only other appliance was the white, single-door refrigerator positioned in the corner just off the entrance. There were two sets of homemade cabinets. One was located below the sink, and the other was on the wall just left of the sink. There were four windows. Two on the back wall, one on the side wall, and one directly above the sink. Though each window was open, the outside breeze was no match forthe heat emanating from the stove. The kitchen was a virtual furnace.
    “Lunch ready?” he chided.
    Sarah Ann turned to face him, and he could see the tiny beads of sweat running down both sides of her face.
    “Almost,” she said. “I fixed some bologna sandwiches and fried a few potatoes. You must finally be hungry.”
    “Not really,” he said. “Mama sent me in here.”
    “She still on you ‘bout eating, hunh?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, you might as well eat, ‘cause you know she gone keep on ‘til you do. Want me to fix you a plate?”
    “Naw,” he said. “I can do