So far, Huck and his older brother Dewey are trying to survive the abuse from their father, Matthew Strait. Huck returns from the store in town with a treat for his brother, only to have his father throw it in the dirt.

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They tell me Momma was beautiful once. I've heard some folks say she was the prettiest girl in all of Patterson County. I ain't never heard anyone say my daddy was much to look at. Matter of fact, all I ever hear is how mean he is.

I find myself watching for signs of his mean streak in Dewey and myself. The worst Dew acts is when he throws a fit like a spoilt child. I can still remember before Dew got hit in the head. He was bossy and could be crabby, ordering me around like most bigger brothers do. He watched out for me. Now, it's my duty to care for him. After all, he saved me from the beating my daddy was ready to give me.

Now, Daddy was gonna beat me with a belt cause I did something wrong. It don't even matter what transgression it was, once my daddy sets his sights on you, you were done for. Dewey grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way of the belt that was whistling through the air at a high speed. Daddy dropped the belt, grabbed my brother by the arms and shook him. I darted away, thankful to be safe for now.

Dewey's head was shaking back and forth as Daddy shook him. Then he pushed him, making Dewey stumble and hit the ground. While Dewey was trying to collect himself, Daddy grabbed the shovel and brung it right down on Dewey's head.

Odd as it sounds, Dewey didn't make a sound, just slowly reached up and touched his head. When he pulled his bloodied fingertips away, a long drip of blood rolled down his forehead.

Momma gently touches my arm, trying to draw me out of my ugly memory. "Everything, okay?" she asks.

"Where's Dewey?" I put the box of jars and the spice sack on the counter.

"Round back."

I find him out back, digging in the yard, the screens propped up against the shed.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to eat the lemon bar. Weren't really that good, to be honest," I lie, hoping to make him feel a little better.

He looks up sharply, eyes rimmed with red. "I hate him, Huck. Hate him right down to his guts."

"You don't need to say that, least not out loud."

"I wished he'd a killed me." His words come out in a misery driven torrent.

My stomach knots up. "No, no, you don't mean that."

"I do. I wish either he'd killed me or that copperhead would have killed him. He got no purpose here."

I look around, checking that Daddy ain't close by. "He's a mean one, sure enough."

"He ain't just mean. He's like the pus in a wound, turning everything rancid."

"He'll get his one day," I whisper the words like a coward, but I feel them in my gut.

Dewey looks me in the eye. "No, he's gonna hurt someone real bad. I know it."

The sound of Daddy hocking up some snot comes from around the corner of the house, making me step back a ways from Dewey. "Hush up now," I say softly.

Dewey nods, but the hate-filled look is still in his eyes.


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For two days, Momma is canning and putting up vegetables and making pickles and jellies. I had to go back to the store cause Daddy caught his foot on a box of the jars sitting on the floor, got so mad he picked up the whole box and tossed it into the backyard. It made a hell of a noise.

Dew and I got to spend a few hours picking up hunks of glass and lids out of the grass. We made a pile on a piece of slate. The sun caught it and it looked like one of them kaleidoscopes. Nothing but pretty colors shining off of it. Most people would see a pile of broken glass, but not me and Dew. Momma taught us to see beauty in small things. These colors dancing in the changing sun, Miss Lynn and her sweet smile, my momma when she smiles sometimes. I see it sometimes when she watches the birds out the window. I see the ghost of the girl she was.

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Miss Lynn, calls me to the store as I'm leaving the post office. "Huck, you have a minute?"

My pulse quickens. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be right there." I put the letters and mail into the empty flour sack that I'm carrying, and rush over to the store. It's late afternoon and the sun is starting to settle behind the trees. The shadows are getting long and soon enough, I'll be getting home when the street lights start coming on.

"Is there room in that sack for these?" Lynn holds up three or four jars. "I found them in the top of the closet and I don't have any use for them. I thought your momma might like to have them."

"That sure is nice of you," I say. I try not to gawk at her, but I sneak a quick look at her.

"Just tell your momma if she has any apple butter that won't fill a jar, I'd love to have it."

I grin. Momma's apple butter is known all over the county. "I'll sure tell her."

Miss Lynn wraps some brown paper around the jars so they don't clang together and break before I get home. She is setting the last one in but stops, she looks over to the window, a slight frown on her face.

"Everything okay, Miss Lynn?"

"I thought I saw someone peeking in the winda', that's all."

"I can look around, if'n you want," I offer.

She smiles, shaking her head. "That is very nice of you, but you've got a long walk home, and it'll be dark before you get there."

I tell her thank you again and gather up the bag of mail and jars and start for the door. I watch as Lynn turns her attention back to the window. And I wonder just what or who she saw peeking in.