painted, but the yard was clear, and Jenny saw Noah’s huge form working in a garden out to the side. She pulled in, and when he came up to the window, she said, “The truck overheated. Can I get some water?”
Noah nodded and smiled. “Yes, ma’am. The well’s around back. I’ll fill it for you.”
She drove the truck around behind the house, which was a long, low structure of two sections with a passage between, all covered under one roof. It was called a dogtrot house, Jenny had learned, because the dogs usually stayed under the shade of the roofed passageway during the hot summers. Jenny shut off the engine and got out as Noah lifted the hood. He reached out and touched the radiator cap, then jerked his hand back. “She mighty hot, miss. Better let it cool down for a mite ’fore I pour the water in.”
“I’m in a big hurry,” she said, then added, “My name’s Jenny Winslow, by the way.”
“Yes, ma’am, I knows that. I’m Noah Valentine.”
Jenny smiled and said, “I’m glad to know you, Noah.” She looked at the truck and asked, “Why can’t we pour the water right in?”
“ ’Cause that might bust the engine. When it’s hot like that you need to let it cool off just a little bit. You in a mighty big hurry?”
“Yes, I’m going for the doctor. My stepmother’s having a baby.”
“Is that right!” Noah said, “Well, I tell you what we do. We’ll pour in just a little bit of water at a time.” He reached in the hip pocket of his faded overalls, pulled out a crimson bandana, and removed the radiator cap. He went over to the well, pulled up a bucketful of water, and picked up a gourd that had been carved into a drinking vessel. “Here,” he said, “we give it just a little bit. Not much.” Carefully he let a thin stream of water down into the radiator, and the steam boiled up. “She mighty hot,” he said, “but we’ll get you on your way pretty soon.”
Jenny knew little about black people. She had been afforded little contact with them in New York, mostly with servants in one form or another. Now as she stood there dwarfed by the huge black man, she thought of how the sheriff had vilified him in public. Noah Valentine was big enough and obviously strong enough to crush most men, including Conroy, but he had simply stood there helplessly. A quick pity ran through Jenny at the thought of what it must be like to be at the mercy of others. “How are the crops coming along?” she asked.
“Just fine, ma’am. The cotton’s gonna do real good this year. I notice you ain’t put none in.”
“No, we don’t know enough about farming to do that. My brother-in-law, Clint Longstreet, knows how, but we thought this year we’d just put in some sorghum and a huge garden so we’ll have plenty to eat this winter.”
“That might be best. Ain’t gonna get much for cotton this year the way things is.”
The two stood there talking, and Jenny was impressed with the gentleness of the man despite his awesome size and obvious strength. She lifted her head and turned, saying, “Someone’s come, I think.”
“I’ll just go see who it is, Miss Winslow. You keep pourin’ this water in there just a little bit at a time. It’s coolin’ down right nice, but we don’t want to bust that engine.”
Jenny took the gourd and obeyed Noah’s instruction, pouring in a little at a time. She was glad he had been there, for she would probably have filled it up with cold water and perhaps ruined the engine. As she poured the water, she heard voices but could not make out the words. She saw that the steam was not rushing out of the engine now, so she quickly filled the radiator, then replaced the cap. The impulse to thank Noah came to her, and after she put the hood down she stepped around the side of the house. She saw a police car out in front with Sheriff’s Department printed in white letters on the side. She did not step out in view but for some reason kept herself concealed. Glancing
Learning to Kill: Stories