who is locked in closets and other scary places by his
father, who doesn't like him anymore. Once the father
put him in the attic for punishment. Big, dark, scary
attic with mice and spooky shadows and spiders
everywhere."
She seemed to freeze. "Who told you all of
that?" "His stepmother had dark red hair until he
found out she was only his father's paramour." Even from where I hid I could hear Momma
breathing hard and fast, as if that small boy she lifted
on her lap had suddenly turned dangerous. "Darling,
you don't know what a paramour is, do you?" He stared ahead into space. "There was a lady
slender and fair who had red in her dark-dark hair.
And she wasn't even married to his father who didn't
care what he did, how he cried, or even if he died." Her lips trembled, but she forced a smile. "Bart,
I believe you have some poet in you. All that has a
cadence, and it rhymes too."
He scowled, turning dark burning eyes on her.
"I despise poets, artists, musicians, dancers!" She shivered, and I can't say I blamed her. He
scared me too. "Bart, I have to ask you this, and you
must give me a truthful answer. Remember, no matter
what you say you won't be punished. Did you hurt
Clover?"
"Clover done gone away. Won't come back to
live in my doghouse now."
She pushed him away then and quickly got up
to leave the patio. Then she remembered Cindy and rushed back to pick her up. None of what she did
made me feel better as I watched Bart's eyes. As always, soon after one of his mean
"attacks," Bart grew tired and sleepy and went to bed
without his dinner. My mother smiled, laughed and
dressed to attend a formal celebration in honor of my