So far, brothers Huck and Dewey Strait are trying to survive under the abusive hand of their father, Matthew Strait. While Dewey is getting bolder with his hatred, Huck is falling in love with a beautiful colored woman in town. Now, Huck has discovered that his father has assaulted the woman's daughter.

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Momma stands in the kitchen, wringing her hands. I'm not sure whether it's because she's afraid of me calling him out or she can't come to terms with the idea of Matthew Strait hurting a child. I feel my own anger washing over me in waves.

"Miss Lynn's momma told me to ask you something," I say. I keep my words measured, trying to control myself.

She looks up, eyes wide and she swallows nervously.

"She told me to ask you why I can't love Miss Lynn."

She makes a face, as if she is trying not to cry. "Not now, Huck," she moans, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Tell me. Why can't I?"

Her shoulders sag, like the weight of the world is bearing down on them. "It don't matter."

"Tell me, Momma. It matters to me."

She hangs her head and her words come out in an angry stream. "Miss Lynn is your kin. Lynn Dobey is my half-sister. Are you happy? My daddy stepped out on my momma, with a-a colored woman.

Bile bubbles up in my throat. "She never said nothing," I whisper. How I must have looked like a fool to her.

"Lynn don't know. It was a long time before my momma figured it out. But those green eyes, just like your brother's. My daddy's green eyes. No secrets made under the cover of night stay hidden in the light of day, Huck. Daddy confessed. He give Miss Lynn's momma some money to keep quiet."

I lean back against the wall, every terrible sight I've seen, and every horrible thing I've heard is whirling in my head. But the one thought that stands out is, it's time for Matthew Strait to be judged for the awful stuff he's done. I look over at her. She looks like a beaten woman. All the lies and secrets she's had to keep. All of the misery she's endured and watched us endure is evident on her face at this moment.

"I ain't never seen you like this, Huck. What are you gonna do?"

I can't answer her. I can't make her a part of what is forming in my head. She needs to leave. If she's here, I'll back down. I can't back down. I owe it to Dewey, Hester, Momma and Miss Lynn. Just thinking about Miss Lynn makes my guts hurt. It's like a knife is being twisted in my belly.

"I need you to go into town, Momma. You need to stay there until dusk."

She shakes her head. "I can't. Suppose you or Dewey need me? And Matthew will be wanting his dinner shortly."

I walk around behind her and untie the apron. "Go, Momma. This is for the best."

She clutches at me, her hands shaking. "What are you gonna do, Huck? Don't do anything foolish."

"You ain't got no part in this. Walk out the front door and keep walking. Understand, Momma, keep walking and stay away."

She walks slowly to the front door, turning only once to offer a small sad smile in my direction.
There is one thing we both know as she walks out of the house, and that is our lives are going to change forever this day.

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Dew is sweating, swinging the hoe down hard onto the dry rocky ground. He hardly looks up as I come around the side of the house.

"Matthew Strait!" I yell.

Daddy is bent over, looking at the lines Dewey's made in the earth.

"Take the hoe from this dummy and dig the lines straight," he says.

"Look at me when I talk to you."

He straightens up, squinting at me like it's the first time seeing me. "My goodness, Huck, you sure are brave to talk to me like that. Someone go to town and become a man?" He laughs, tossing his head back.

Dewey stops digging, his eyes meet mine. He can sense it. His green eyes flicker to where Daddy stands.

"What you done to little Hester, was just plain vile. You're an evil son of a bitch."

Daddy smirks. "She'll be spreading soon enough. That's how they are, Huck. Colored girls start early, and it don't matter with who. I just helped her get started a little sooner." He looks from me to Dewey, a sick smile growing on his face.

"You're a pig."

The smile fades. He's done playing. "I'm gonna kick your tail, you keep on flapping your jaw," he says, then turns back to criticize the work Dewey is doing.

Dewey is still watching, waiting for the right moment, waiting on me.

"Do it now," I say.

Daddy turns his attention back on me. He cocks his eyebrow. "Go tell your momma to start dinner. I'm hungry."

I shake my head. "She ain't here right now. It's just us three."

Dewey smiles. "Just you and two coyotes," he says, laughing after the words come out of his mouth.

"Shut up, dummy," he growls.

Dewey takes a swing, clipping him on his shoulder.

"You bastard," Matthew shouts. "I'm gonna take great pleasure whooping you again." He lunges for the hoe, but Dewey is quicker.

Dewey tosses it to me, throws back his head and lets a howl out. The sound runs through me. I feel the animal inside of me wake. The wildness that has been feeding on the anger and humiliation all these years is alive. I become a coyote, like Dewey. I crave the scent of Matthew Strait's fear. I don't just want to kill him, no, I want to chase him. I want to see the stain of pure fear as it spreads from his eyes to every part of his body.

He crouches, hands out, looking from me to Dewey as we start to circle him.

I twirl the hoe in my hand, then toss it to Dewey.

"I mean it. Go get your momma," he snaps.

Dewey growls, like a wild dog. "Just you and two coyotes. You really shouldn't have hit me. I forget 'cause of it. I forget a lot of stuff, but ain't never gonna forget that. No sir, I wake up every morning and remember that. Each time I sharpened a stick, I thought about what you done to me."

"You scared, Matthew?" I call out.

"Of a boy and a dummy?" he says, forcing a laugh.

"Of the coyotes," Dewey whispers.

"Go on, get out of my way." He acts like he's gonna stand up, but he don't. He's stays crouched, still watching us as we circle around him. A dismal breeze kicks up, and I smile. The scent of his fear is carried right to me.

"You might want to make yourself right with the Almighty," I say.

"God don't want him," Dewey says quietly. "Don't nobody want Matthew Strait. 'Cept maybe the devil."