Mama looked at him wide-eyed, fear etched onto her delicate features. “I don’t think that.”

“I saw how you looked at him. I saw it.” He muttered something and pulled away from her. Leni thought he said, Breathe, under his breath, but she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that they were in trouble. “I saw you touch his hand.”

This was bad.

He’d always been jealous of Tom Walker’s money … this was something else.

All the way home, as he muttered under his breath, whore, bitch, lied, his fingers played piano keys on the steering wheel. At the homestead, he stumbled out of the bus and stood there swaying, looking at the cabin. Mama went up to him. They stared at each other, both breathing unsteadily.

“Make a fool of me again … will you?”

Mama touched his arm. “You don’t really think I want Tom—”

He grabbed Mama by the arm and dragged her into the cabin. She tried to pull free, stumbled forward, put her hand over his in a feeble attempt to make him ease his grip. “Ernt, please.”

Leni ran after them, followed them into the cabin, saying, “Dad, please, let her go.”

“Leni, go—” Mama started to say.

Dad hit Mama so hard she flew sideways, cracked her head into the log wall, and crumpled to the floor.

Leni screamed. “Mama!”

Mama crawled to her knees, got unsteadily to her feet. Her lip was ripped, bleeding.

Dad hit her again, harder. When she hit the wall, he looked down, saw the blood on his knuckles, and stared at it.

A high, keening howl of pain burst out of him, ringing off the log walls. He stumbled back, putting distance between them. He gave Mama a long, desperate look of sorrow and hatred, then ran out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

*   *   *

LENI WAS SO SCARED and surprised and horrified by what she’d just seen, she did nothing.

Nothing.

She should have thrown herself at Dad, gotten between them, even gone for her gun.

She heard the door slam and it knocked her out of her paralysis.

Mama was sitting on the floor in front of the woodstove, her hands in her lap and her head forward, her face hidden by her hair.

“Mama?”

Mama slowly looked up, tucked the hair behind her ear. A red splotch marred her temple. Her lower lip was split open, dripping blood onto her pants.

Do something.

Leni ran into the kitchen, soaked a washcloth with water from the bucket, and went to Mama, kneeling beside her. With a tired smile, Mama took the rag, pressed it to her bleeding lip.

“Sorry, baby girl,” she said through the cloth.

“He hit you,” Leni said, stunned.

This was an ugliness she’d never imagined. A lost temper, yes. A fist? Blood? No …