Into the Free Read Online Free

hands around Sweetie’s thick trunk. They are just tiny, dirty Mississippi hands. And they are shaking.
    Jack rants and paces back and forth. I climb down to get a better view, slipping quietly to the side of the house. Peeking in through the kitchen window.
    His booted steps pound the floor like war drums. Finally, he stops his prowling and plants both boots. Then he forces Mama up against the bare kitchen wall and shoves a fistful of roast into her mouth.
    She struggles. Coughs. Gags. He shoves down more. And more, squeezing her slender neck with his giant hand. Jack’s knuckles turn pink and then white and his whole arm shakes as he forces meat into Mama’s mouth.
    A few dogs bark in the distance. A train whistle announces afternoon deliveries. The wind picks up. Heat lightning flashes across the sky and the smell of electricity coats the thick, hot air. Like God Himself has struck a match. Then Jack’s fist slams into Mama’s cheek, and I swear I hear the sound of bone scratching bone. I wish for the life of me that I had gone fishing with Sloth.
    After the second blow, Mama breaks loose. She runs through the front door and I jump down, crouching under the porch out of view. Jack chases close behind. So close the screen doesn’t have time to bang closed between them. A fresh green four-leaf clover dangles over the rim of his cowboy hat. Mama screams, “Jack, please. Think of Millie.” Then she tries something else, something he might actually care about. “You could lose your job.”
    No one hears her. No one but me and the dogs and the mockingbird. I know from all the times this has happened before. Jack won’t stop no matter what Mama says. If anyone at the big house hears Mama’s cries, they don’t come to check. They never do. Jack knows he won’t lose his job as a bull rider. Mama would never tell Mr. Tucker or anyone else what Jack is really like. She wants the beatings kept a secret. She keeps lots of secrets.
    Once, after Jack had left Mama with a bloody nose and a busted lip, I set out to find Mr. Sutton. Mama pulled me into her lap, a thick patch of purple rising up across her cheek, and told me never to tell. “It’s one thing to stand in line for free bread or to ask for help paying the rent,” she explained. “But there is nothing worse than the shame of being unloved.”
    Now, Jack tackles Mama in the grass and throws himself on top of her. His dirty boots grate against her bare calves as she wrestles for freedom. “Just as useless as your daddy said you’d be.” Jack punches. “Only thing he was ever right about.”
    Mama keeps struggling, but Jack has her pinned, like a calf at one of his rodeos. Then he spins around in a quick jolt, jerks his knife from the pocket of his jeans, and flicks it open. As if he’s rehearsed it in his sleep. He forces the slick silver blade right up under Mama’s chin, hard against her throat. She stops moving. Everything is still. I hear my own breathing. I hope Jack can’t hear it or else he might turn the knife on me. He doesn’t need a reason.
    He presses the blade against Mama’s slim neck, and a tiny stream of blood trickles down, pooling in the hollow dip above her left collarbone. I know how ugly this can get. I’ve seen Jack beat Mama to the point she can’t open her mouth to eat, or move her hands to iron, or stand up on her own two feet without falling to the ground in pain. Every time it happens, I swear to myself it’ll be the last time I let Jack hurt Mama.
    I put my hand in my pocket. I rub my fingers across the smooth silver pocketknife, the only gift Jack ever gave me. I know how to end this. Now is the time. I will kill Jack and save Mama.
    Just do it, I think. Hurry!
    I open the blade. Plan the angle of attack.
    But just as I am ready to lunge, Jack’s voice makes a sudden shift. His crazed shouts turn smooth. His voice no longer carves the air. He stops the hitting, leans hard over Mama, and says, through gritted teeth, “I