Snakeroot

3. Uncle Henry

It was late September and the weather was finally cooling down some. Daddy had never been real cut up about Mama's death, which made Tara madder than hell. So when we found out Uncle Henry was moving in - supposedly to help out since Mama was gone - she lit into Daddy like a pissed off rattlesnake. The two of them fought and yelled like a couple of dogs over a scrap of meat. We kids stayed in the bedroom. Megan clutched Tommy and I clutched Megan and we all sat together with the box fan blowing our hair everywhere, waiting for it to end. It sounded like someone hit the floor hard, then we heard a low moan from Tara. Megan whimpered and so did I, and I held on to them tight, afraid we would be the next things to hit the floor.

Then it got quiet. When Tara came back into the room, her face was a mess of blood and tears. She swiped angrily with the back of her hand, shoving hair out of her mouth and flinging the bloody tears off her face.

Megan and I started crying at the same time. But Tara was having none of that. She sat down in front of us with her swelling face right in front of us and told us to stop it.

"You two have to pull yourselves together," she said. "We've gotta get out of here."

For one glorious, shining moment, my heart soared.

"Are we going to live with Ms. Linda?" I asked. 

"No," she said, eyes downcast. "Uncle Henry needs our room. Daddy wants to make us sleep in the living room."

In that moment it was like a steel fist closed around my stomach. Our little bedroom was a wreck, with nowhere to store our clothes, and our old dirty mattress on the floor, but I felt safe there. Daddy never entered the bedroom, as mad as he got. I didn't want to sleep in the living room, exposed to his rage.

But Tara had another plan. She marched us out the front door, right past Daddy - who yelled curse words at us as we filed past - and to the back end of the lot, where the old camper was. It sat there buried beneath a sprawling shade tree, a coating of dust over its cream-and-brown exterior.

"We aren't supposed to go in there," Megan said quietly.

"That was Mama's rule," said Tara. "She's gone now."

The door wasn't locked. Tara opened the door and climbed inside. I heard a screech, then some thumps. When she came out, she was sweating.

"I'll have to clean it out and kill some wasps," she said, "but we can stay in there. It's not bad. I think it even has electricity. Mama and Daddy used to live in it a long time ago, before they bought the trailer. I bet they never unhooked it."

"I don't want to move," I said, near tears again. I'd never lived anywhere but in the trailer.

"I don't want to move either," said Tara, "but we either move into this camper or we sleep in the living room where Daddy will always be tripping over us and getting mad. Do you want that?"

"No..."

"Then take the little ones and go sit with Graddaddy for awhile," she said. "I'm going to get this place ready for us to stay in."

"Don't you think Daddy might get mad?"

"I don't think he'll care, as long as we're out of his way."

I hoped she was right, but there was little else to do about anything. So I took Megan and Tommy into Granddaddy's trailer. It was cool and dark in there, since he had air conditioning and had old blankets hung over his windows. Granddaddy wasn't feeling well that day, so we sat on the floor beside his bed and watched TV with him until Tara was done.