So far, Huck and his brother, Dewey, are doing all they can to survive under the abusive hand of their daddy. But their father seems hell-bent on ruining any chance they have of a good life. Huck returns to town to get more jars and gets to see the woman he is quickly falling in love with, Miss Lynn. While he is there, she swears she sees someone peeking in the window of the store. Huck offers to check around but she tells him to hurry home before it gets dark.

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I tell my momma exactly what Miss Lynn says. "She said she'd be grateful for any apple butter you can spare. I'll gladly take it to her if you need me to."

Momma pats my arm. "I'll fix some up next week. You sure seem awful eager to get back to town. You're gonna wear the soles off your shoes before long."

I look around the kitchen, hoping she won't press the subject. "Just think it would be a nice gesture seeing as how she give you those extra jars."

A board on the floor creaks and my daddy walks into the room. He looks like he's been in a scuffle. "He wants to go sniffing 'round that colored bitch."

"Matthew, what happened to you?" Momma says.

"What this? This ain't nothing," he says, laughing with an ugly devil edge to it. He looks from me to her and then claps his hands together making both of us jump. "What's for dinner? I've worked up a powerful appetite."

He walks towards the table, his eyes locked on mine, his smile never waivers. "Saw you in town earlier. Called out to you but you must not have heard me."

"No, I guess I didn't."

He nods. "Had your arms full. I was gonna offer to help you carry some, but you looked to be in a mighty hurry."

"I was trying to get these extra jars home to Momma. It was getting dark."

He looks at the tablecloth and flicks a crumb away. "Heard there was quite a ruckus at Dobey's, I'm guessing you must have just missed it. Some winda's got broke and I believe someone tried to break in the back door."

I know better than to react. But my heart is throbbing in my throat, cause I'm fearful what happened to Miss Lynn and her kids. I feel his eyes laying heavy on me. He's waiting. He's enjoying himself knowing I can't do a thing about this. When I give him nothing, he looks over at Momma. "Terrible," he says quietly. "Times are changing 'round here."

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I toss and turn the better part of the night. The heat of the evening and the news about Miss Lynn and the scoundrel who tried to break in the store, and Dew is talking in his sleep. Jabbering about Ben and the chickens. I'm guessing he's still upset about what happened the other morning. Then clear as day, he yells out, "Hit him!"

I feel a shiver run along my spine. He ain't talking about the snake. I know he's talking about my daddy.

"Hush, Dewey." I climb out of my bed and creep over to him. His eyes are half lidded, not open all the way but enough. "Dew, hush up. You been dreaming."

"Huck?"

"I'm right here," I whisper. "You was dreaming out loud."

"I dreamed you killed Daddy. I was watching you."
"It was dream, Dew. Just a dream. Your head got things mixed up."

He rolls on his side to face me. "You gon' hafta do it, Huck. You know that, right?"

I feel some sick working it's way around my belly. "It was just a dream, Dew."

He nods, but I can still see the look in his eyes, even in the pale moonlit room, the hatred is there. "I think about it a lot, Huck. Don't you ever think about what it'd be like if he just disappeared?"

"No. And, you shouldn't neither." I don't believe the words even as they tumble from my mouth. I know Dewey can hear the lies.

"You think I'm gonna go to hell for that?"

"No. Just so long as you fight those feelings. You hear me, Dew, you gotta fight those feelings."

Dewey pulls himself up into a sitting position. He's quiet for a for a little bit, then opens his mouth, "I dug a big hole in the woods. Threw in some sharp sticks." He peers over at me. "I can't fight it much longer. I know it's wrong, but I can't."

Quickly, I slip my arm around his shoulder. "You gotta try."

He makes no sound, but leans into me and quietly weeps.

Neither Dewey nor I speak about his dream or his confessions last night. He wakes in a good mood and to my delight, so do I. Hate is an ugly feeling. It'll consume you like a fire, if you let it. For the first time, in as long as I can remember, I wake with knowing I'm not alone. He feels it, too.

But, feeling and doing something about it, are two very different things.