Wild Dogs

So far, Huck and Dewey Strait are trying to survive under the abusive rule of their father, Matthew Strait. Dewey is becoming bolder with his actions and Huck is falling in love with a beautiful colored woman in town.

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Daddy is sitting in a kitchen chair, hunched over like he's reading something close up. But, Matthew Strait don't read, and I ain't real sure he knows how to. He says people who like to read just think they are smarter than everyone else.

"What happened to ya'?" I ask.

His shoulders flinch and he straightens up a bit. "Dammit, why'd you bring that idiot down here?" he growls at Momma.

"Stop it, Matthew." She starts rummaging in the cupboard for odd bottles and wraps.

"Who gotcha', Daddy?"

"Some wild dog." His voice is tight and he don't offer anything else.

"Did he bite ya'? I don't see any bite marks."

Without warning, he tries to take a swing at me, but he winces in pain and sinks back into the seat.

Momma shakes her head and I let it drop. "Huck, will you see if'n we have any ice? If so, put some in the dish towel and bring it here. That cold will keep the swelling down, Matthew."

I place three or four ice cubes on the cloth then roll it together and hand it to her. "Here ya' go, Momma."

She tries to gently press it to the worst of the scratches on his face and neck, but he continues being his surly self. "Get off me, woman," he snarls.

Momma shakes her head and nods for me to go back upstairs. I hold my smile until I get to the top of the stairs, then I break out in a ten penny grin. Somebody fought back. And, since, he wasn't bragging, they bested him.

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Once again, someone is shaking me awake. This time it's Dewey.

He's leaning in so close I knock my head into his just by turning my head. "Daddy got it for sure last night," he says. As the fog burns off of my eyes, I can see him grinning. If he'd grinned any harder, his whole face would have split in two.

"I know that," I mumble as I press my palm to his chest to move him back.

"The hell you say," he sputters. "Something got him, but good, Huck."

"Dewey, I know. Momma came and needed my help last night. He says it was a wild dog, but it sure didn't look like it. Not a bite on him."

"He's too wrapped up in his own bullshit to tell the truth."

I sit up and wipe the crust from my eyes. "Makes ya' wonder who did it, don't it?"

Dewey looks towards the door. "Probably sniffin' 'round the wrong woman. I'll bet it was an angry husband."

I nudge Dewey and smile. "I'd like to shake his hand. How about you?"

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He looks worse now than last night. There is a map of rusty looking scratches running the length of his forearms and his neck and face. There is a bright pink goose egg near his temple, that I didn't see last night. I look away before his catches me staring. "Morning, Momma," I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Dark circles seem to swallow her eyes and she looks tired. I wonder if she lay awake, trying to piece his story together. He ain't never telled the truth. Why would he start now?

I reach for a jar in the cabinet and pull the buttermilk from the icebox. I watch as Momma brings a cup filled with coffee to him. He takes a sip and grimaces. "Bitter as hell," he mumbles, pushing it roughly aside. The hot liquid sloshes over the rim and stains her tablecloth.

Momma nervously goes to grab it. "I'm sorry, Matthew. I can add a little milk to it. Would ya' like that?"

I snatch the cup and toss the remainder in the sink. "Stop talking to her like that. She took care of you last night when nobody else would have. You treat her right, ya' hear?"

Both look up in surprise, but he recovers quickly. "Well, well. Mighty brave talk for someone who wouldn't have the nerve to say that if'n I weren't injured. We gonna have a come to Jesus meeting. Yes, sir, once I heal up, I'm gonna tear both you and your brother's hides up."

I look at him, covered in scratches and at the mercy of his family. Matthew Strait don't scare me anymore. His threats are hollow. Someone has upped him and I know it's possible. Last night was the beginning of the fall of Matthew Strait.

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Dewey is outside mucking the yard, and, to my surprise, he's whistling.

"You finding gold in those piles of manure?" I know why he's so happy. It's the first time either of us has seen Daddy on the receiving end of a beating.

"This is better than gold, Huck. It shows we can do it."

I roll my eyes. "Not this again," I say.

Dewey stands up, looking down on me. "You bet this again. We owe it to Momma."

"She loves him," I say weakly.

Dewey spits to the side. "The hell you say. He does awful things to her at night. I hear her crying and begging him. You don't. My bed is right up against the wall. I hear the ugly things he says."

"Ain't none of our business what goes on in there."

"If you love her, and I know you do, Huck, you wouldn't want her going through this hell night after night."

I look down. I know she deserves better. I done told her that myself.

He brushes his hair back to expose the scar that Daddy gave him long ago. "You think I'm ever gonna forgive him for this? Callin' me dummy 'cause a what he did. He done this to me. Maybe I am a dummy. I try to remember things, but it just gets turned around in my head. I'll never be like you, Huck. You're smart, real smart."

"No, I aint."

"Momma don't send me to do errands."

I stare at the ground.

"She calls me simple. Simple Dewey. I know what simple means, Huck. She might as well call me dummy, too." He looks at me, his eyes dark, like a storm cloud that ruins a sunny day.

"So, you got a plan?" I ask quietly.

"I do." He doesn't offer any more.

"Are ya' gonna tell me, or do I gotta guess?""

He watches me, like he don't trust me, then licks his lips and leans on the shovel.

"You ain't got no plan."

"Hush up. Are you in, really in?"

"Just tell me." I stamp my foot impatiently.

"One night we follow him. We get him on the road when he's heading back. I plan on hitting him in the head with this shovel. An eye for an eye, just like those fancy preachers say."

"You're gonna sneak up on him? Cause, he aint gonna just let you hit him."

Dewey makes an ugly face. "Hell, Huck, I don't care if a tree falls on him. I just want that son of a bitch dead."

"You can't sneak up behind him. You ain't no coward, Dew, and I ain't neither."

Dewey looks toward the house, and I turn to see my daddy watching us from the winda'. "I'll do whatever it takes, Huck."