The life of Rayford Lee Jonas came to an abrupt end in less than two minutes. Neck broken, head leaning to the side and tilted upwards, the Klansmen now celebrated his lynching by igniting oil-soaked torches and burning a cross that had been erected during the vicious whipping Rayford had managed to survive. The Klansmen circling on horseback were handed the torches and proceeded to throw them through the windows of the Jonas home. Inside, Rayford’s wife, Maysie, and their six youngin’s were still hiding. In minutes the entire house was ablaze and screams for help carried into the night.

Then there was silence. Seven more people entered through the gates of the Lord’s Kingdom. Waiting for them with open arms would be Rayford and eternal peace. They’d all experience in death what was denied them in life: dignity, respect and serenity. No more would their color bring misery into their lives. In the Lord’s Kingdom there was utter bliss and the color of one’s skin didn’t mean a thing. Rayford had prayed with what little life was left in his ravaged body, that his killers would never experience the peace now accorded to him and his family. The Lord would not disappoint him.

Only an hour earlier, Rayford Lee Jonas had been sitting in his rocking chair on the front porch of his home in Darville, Mississippi. The lemonade that Maysie had made tasted so good after a long day of laboring in the fields. The quiet, briefly interrupted by the sound of a chirping cricket, was a delight after such a hectic day. He’d awakened at 5 a.m. to the sweet smell of corn bread, eggs, greens and coffee Maysie had already prepared for him. After a quick trip to the out-house, washing up with the fresh water she’d poured into the basin, he was ready to eat and head to the fields by 5:30 a.m.

The day had gone as expected. The hot Mississippi sun, the tough upper crust of the soil, the stubborn oxen that Rayford guessed wanted the day off, made the grueling work even harder. He had three more days to finish plowing the twenty acres of land that John Calvin had hired him to prepare for fall planting. Although up to the task, he knew that it would take every bit of energy and inner will to get the job done on time. For now, the quiet and the delicious lemonade were all that mattered.

Rocking effortlessly, he’d be the first to admit that the days work had taken its pound of flesh from his thirty-two year old body. Although a big, strong man, the fields humbled the most powerful of men and he was no exception. He’d seen his father and his uncle, men with almost superhuman strength, succumb to the pain that the fields inflicted on all workers. The land was like a wild stallion that refused to be broken. Many a man had climbed up on its back only to be thrown to the ground. Rayford might have been thrown off today, but he’d be back tomorrow. For now, he’d just puff on his favorite pipe, rock back and forth and think about Maysie and his children.

Rayford had known Maysie Selma Ryan since childhood. She was a large woman and just the kind of wife he needed. She’d made him stop his excessive drinking and, at times, treated him as if he was one of her kids. She’d bore him six children, four boys and two girls. With the heart of an angel, she managed to love each in their own special way. Still, she was able to retain a part of her huge heart for the man who’s stolen it some ten years earlier. Those who knew her could only marvel at this wonderful human being. Those that didn’t considered her the lowest of the low, a ‘nigger’.

“It’s so damn hot,” mumbled Rayford. That the dragon flies were overly abundant meant only one thing… rain was on the way. This, plus the fact that his body hurt far beyond the normal pain from a hard day’s labor. There was no doubt in his mind that rain would be here within the next twelve hours and cause him to lose precious time plowing the fields. All he could do was look at the sky, say a little prayer and hope that it would somehow miss the twelve acres he had left.

The sound of pick-up trucks and the clap of horse’s hooves snapped him out of his reflection. Immediately sensing danger, he ran into the house to warn Maysie and the children. And, to arm himself just in case his instinct was correct.

“I want you and the children to hide. No matter what you hear, I don’t want you comin’ outside,” he said in a tone of urgency.

“What’s wrong?” Maysie asked, looking up from her dishwater, not hearing the sound of the trucks over the noise of the children.

“Woman, there’s no time to explain. Hide with the children and don’t come out no matter what!” His usual soft-spoken voice was rising.

He went back outside with his scattergun and sat back down in his rocking chair. The riders were just down the road and now he could hear them yelling, cussing and sounding like they’d been drinking for a better part of the early evening. Once in view, the Confederate flag tied to the antennas of each vehicle did nothing to ease his alarm…