Both babies wailed, reacting to Peg’s sobs and the thick tension shoving against our better judgment. It was stifling, but none of us dared to leave for fear that belt would find us next. We just stood in shock and terror as Pa flicked his wrist at lightning speed to send the belt rapidly snaking around his own waist.

Whack!

Another red line bloomed across his back.

Whack!

With each lashing Pa condemned himself as a parent, as a man, as a Christian.

Whack!

The sour stench of sweat and urine filtered around the dank space. I looked down the line of Foster kids and caught the dark spot blooming on the front of Raleigh’s pants.

Whack!

“I’ve failed at being a father. God have mercy! I’ve failed!” Pa’s words screeched through his clenched teeth as his chest heaved violently. The Bible reference about weeping and gnashing of teeth came to mind. Was Pa living in his own hell? Were we?

Each time a new red line streaked across his skin, we all winced as if we could feel the pain. In a way, I suppose we did. I’d never felt the brutal deliverance of a belt against my skin, but the effect couldn’t have been more traumatic than witnessing my father whipping himself until blood trickled down his back. From the sobs and trembling bodies, my siblings felt the impact just as viciously as I did. As Peg did. As Pa did.

Pa eventually collapsed to the ground on all fours, panting and moaning. His large frame shook as he pointed the belt toward the door. I didn’t have to think past a second on obeying him. I made my way outside, ushering a procession of stunned and frightened children away from the thick despair of his shadows.

Where did the sun go?

Will it ever shine again?

Can it at least peek through the storm clouds every now and then?

Those questions haunted me as I settled the babies down for a nap as quickly as possible so I could go tend to the others. With shaky hands, I helped Raleigh out of his soiled clothes and into the shower, neither one of us saying a word. He was so very tenderhearted, but I had no idea what to do for that, so my focus was always on his physical needs. Like getting him cleaned up from peeing himself. I set his clothes to washing, not realizing yet how often that would become an added chore in the following years.