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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