Together always (2 page)

It had taken him almost four years to save that much. Most of the money that he made at odd jobs he gave to Addie to help stretch the meager sums Jed grudgingly allowed her. But he always saved some. He'd never said it out loud but he knew what the money was for. Escape. When he had enough, he was going to walk away from this place and never look back. He'd go somewhere and get himself a job, and as soon as he had earned some money he'd send for his

mother, and neither of them would ever have to see Jed Roberts again.

Staring at the money, he could almost picture the life he'd have. A new car and a house and maybe a maid for his mother so Addie would never have to wash another dish. He'd wear nice clothes—no more patches on the elbows or knees. And he'd buy Addie a Sunday dress for every day of the week.

"Trace?" He jumped, slamming the cigar box shut before turning to look at the door. Lily stood just inside, Isaiah clutched in one hand, the other holding the edge of the door. With the door open, Jed's voice could be heard more clearly, droning the familiar theme of how much he'd given up. Trace stood, crossed the room to draw Lily inside and shut the door behind her.

*'What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

"No." She watched him, eyes enormous in her pale face. *'He sounds awful mad."

Trace lifted the mattress and shoved the cigar box back into hiding before glancing over his shoulder at her.

"He's just hollering because he's too lazy to do anything else."

Lily looked at the closed door and then looked back at Trace. "Could I stay here with you?"

"Sure."

She ran across the room and dived onto the bed, curling up on her side, her arms wrapped tightly around Isaiah.

Trace sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the rise and fall of Jed's voice, hearing occasional whispered apologies from his mother.

"Why is he yelling like that? Is he going to hurt her?"

"Nah. He just yells a lot. Nothing to worry about. You go to sleep now and tomorrow I'll take you for a picnic."

"It'll be too cold." The protest came out on a yawn and he could see that her eyes were heavy with sleep. Trace

reached to pull the covers up around her shoulders, his expression tender.

"We'll bundle up. My mom used to take me on picnics in the snow."

"Really?''

"Really. Now go to sleep."

"Okay. You won't go away, will you, Trace?"

"I won't go away." That seemed enough to satisfy her. Within minutes her breathing was light and even. Trace watched her sleep, reaching out to brush a lock of inky hair off her forehead.

She looked so young, hardly more than a baby. Anger stirred in him as he remembered her fright. She shouldn't have to be afraid. Not of anything. She should be happy and carefree. Every child had a right to that.

He leaned his head back against the wall. Jed's voice droned on, though quieter now. Pretty soon he'd pass out and then the house would be quiet except for the sound of Addie's weeping. Trace stared up at the cracked ceiling, trying to remember what it was like to be carefree. His memory didn't go back that far. Maybe if his father had lived, things would have been different. But he hadn't and things were the way they were.

Sometimes Trace thought they'd never change, that he'd grow old and die without ever seeing anything beyond the prairie. The flat endless landscape would border his birth and his death, like a picture frame. He'd die here, henuned in by the sheer nothingness of the land.

He pushed the thought away. That wasn't the way it was going to be. He was going to escape this place. He was going to make something of himself. Somewhere there had to be something better than just surviving.

Lily stirred and whimpered in her sleep. Trace rolled his head to look at her. She didn't belong here. She was like the flower she was named for, exquisite and delicate. She'd wilt

here. Sooner or later she'd break, all her beauty drained away, leaving her as worn as his mother. Fierce denial came on the heels of the thought. He wasn't going to let it happen. He wasn't going to see her destroyed the way Addie had been.

The house was quieter now. Jed had stopped talking; he'd probably passed out on the sofa. The ever-present wind caught in the cracks of the old house, a muffled background to the soft sobs coming from the living room. Trace shut his eyes, his fingers clenching against his thigh. There had to be something more to the world than this. And he was going to find it.

As THE WEATHER got coldcr, Jed's drinking grew worse. It was the usual pattern, but it seemed to Trace as if his stepfather were even worse this year than most. Construction work tapered off and then disappeared as the prairie settled in for winter. No one wanted to be in the midst of building a house when winter hit.

Trace began to dread leaving for school, afraid of what he might find when he got home. He remembered the nightmare of coming home to find his mother's face bruised and swollen, her eyes blotched from tears. She'd always told him that she'd fallen, but he'd been younger than Lily when he realized what was really happening. He'd been helpless to stop it until he grew big enough to confront his stepfather and threaten to dish out a little of the same treatment. Jed hadn't hit Addie since then but there was an ugliness to his mood lately that frightened Trace.

If this was what it was like even before the first snowfall, he couldn't imagine what would happen when the weather grew colder, trapping them inside the little house. And then everything shifted and he realized that there was more to worry about than Jed's rapidly worsening moods.

"I saw Lisa Mae Watkins at the market today. Her grandfather says the signs are it's going to be a real cold winter."

Jed grunted sullenly in answer to his wife's comment, poking his fork into the plate of beans and hocks. "Don't know why you sound so cheerful. Just means we'll be snowed in more'n usual. Nothin' to crow about."

**I wasn't crowin', Jed. I was just making conversation." He said nothing and Addie looked at him anxiously before turning her attention to her son. '*How was school today. Trace?"

"Fine." He shrugged, forcing himself to swallow despite the tension in his throat. "Everyone's real excited about having the long weekend off for Thanksgiving next week."

"That'll be nice. Do you like Thanksgiving, Lily?"

"I like Christmas better. I'm going to be an angel in the play this year."

Addie smiled but it was Jed who spoke. "I bet you'll make a pretty angel. All that beautiful hair and all. They'll hardly have to give you a costume."

He reached across the table to lift a lock of her hair, letting it sift through his fingers. Trace had thd urge to knock his hand away. His throat closed up tight and he could hardly breathe. He looked at his stepfather's face and felt a sick uneasiness he couldn't define. There was something there he didn't like. Something ugly.

Lily shifted slightly and Jed's hand fell away. He continued to look at her and Trace felt his uneasiness growing. It wasn't just tonight. It was something that had been swelling inside him for weeks now. He'd seen Jed watching Lily, looking at her, making comments about how pretty she was. He couldn't put his finger on what it was that bothered him but there was something there that made him uneasy. He glanced at his mother but she was staring at her plate.

The meal over, Trace and Lily cleared the table while Addie started on the dishes. Jed continued to sit at the table, a bottle and a shot glass in front of him. He didn't say anything. Most of the time he stared at the wall, but several times Trace caught him watdiing Lily. Trace wanted to snatch her away, put her out of sight, as if that would keep her safe. But safe from what?

He still didn't have an answer when it was time for Lily to go to bed. He didn't have an answer but the uneasiness was as strong as ever. The TV was on but no one was watching it. Addie was bent over some mending, squinting in the light of a too-dim bulb. Jed was slumped in a chair, the bottle beside him, his eyes on the screen, his thoughts elsewhere. Trace sat in the corner of the sofa, a history book open in his lap, his mind on other things. Lily came into the room after her bath. As always, her delicate beauty was out of place among the worn furnishings and scuffed floor.

"Good night, Aunt Addie. Good night, Uncle Jed. Good night. Trace."

"Aren't you going to give your old uncle a good-night kiss?"

Lily hesitated, her eyes flickering uncertainly. This, too, was a new habit of Jed's. In the past couple of weeks he'd started insisting on her kissing him good-night. Trace glanced at his mother. She kept her head down as if the mending were absorbing all of her attention. But her hands were still.

"Come on and give me a kiss."

Lily's eyes flickered to Trace as he stood up, stretching elaborately. "I'm beat. I think I'm going to hit the sack, too. Come on, Lily. I'll tuck you in. Good night. Mom. 'Night, Jed."

He took Lily's hand, pulling her from the room before anyone said anything.

"Are you going to bed, too, Trace?"

**Sure am." He stopped in front of her bedroom door and stared at it. It looked so thin. No protection at all. Now why was he thinking in terms of protection? 'TU tell you what. How'd you like to sleep in my room tonight?"

*'Howcome?"

How come? He didn't know how come. He just knew he didn't want to leave her alone in that room tonight. He shrugged.

''Just for fun. What do you think?"

''Isaiah, too?"

"Sure."

"Okay." She hurried into the room to get her faithful companion. Trace looked over his shoulder, not knowing what he was looking for. When Lily came back out, he took her hand again, shutting her bedroom door before leading her down the hall to his bedroom.

She was asleep within minutes of his tucking her in. Trace settled into a chair, a book in his lap. The room was cold. The old heater didn't reach into this back corner. It would have been warmer under the covers but he was too restless to go to sleep. He sat there, flipping a page occasionally, barely noticing what he was reading. After a while he heard his mother and Jed go to bed, their bedroom door cUcking quietly shut. Still Trace sat there, waiting, though he couldn't have said what for.

His head was nodding over the book when it came. A sound beyond the restless whisper of the wind. His head jerked up. Muffled footsteps came down the hall, as if someone were tiptoeing. He reached out to shut off the small lamp, blinded for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Trace stared at the wall as if he could see through the dirty paint to the dark hallway beyond. The footsteps stopped and his fingers knotted over the spine of the book. He hardly dared to breathe.

"Lily? It's me, honey. Uncle Jed. I thought you might be scared alone in the dark."

Trace heard Lily's door open and close and then silence. After a few minutes it opened again and Jed's footsteps came down the hall. They stopped outside his room, and as he stared at the door Trace could almost hear his stepfather's breathing. The tension grew inside him until he thought he might burst. After a long moment the footsteps moved away, but Trace didn't relax until he heard the sound of a door closing and knew Jed had gone back to his own bed.

He stared into the darkness. His hands were shaking so badly that he almost missed the table when he tried to put the book down. He swallowed hard against the acid taste of bile that rose in his throat. Getting up, he leaned his forehead against the window. It felt no colder than he did inside.

Lily stirred, turning over and muttering in her sleep. Trace squeezed his eyes tight, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyeUds. She was so little. She had no one but him to take care of her. He had to protect her. But how? He had to get her away from here, away from Jed.

He rubbed his forehead over the chill glass. There had to be a way. All he had to do was find it. Come what may, he wouldn't let her stay here. He couldn't.

Chapter Two

In the morning Trace wondered if he'd imagined the events of the night before. Maybe his imagination had been working overtime. But sitting across from Jed at the breakfast table, he knew that wasn't the case.

Though it was barely seven in the morning, Jed had already been at the bottle. The smell of bourbon wafted across the table, a strident addition to the scent of bacon and eggs. Addie set a plate of charred bacon and hard-cooked eggs down in front of her son. Trace stared at the unappetizing food and he didn't say anything. He'd seen the way her hands shook.

'These eggs'd break a window if you flung 'em at one. You'd think after all these years you'd've learned to cook a decent egg." Jed's tone was more whining than angry.

Out of the comer of his eye, Trace saw his mother's worn hands twist in the faded gingham apron and he didn't have to look at her face to see the uncertainty and hovering fear. She knew as well as he did that Jed's mood could swing from whining to rage in a matter of a drink or two.

"I'm sorry, Jed. I'll cook you some new ones."

**Never mind. If Trace can eat his, I reckon I can manage mine. How'd you sleep, boy? Anythin' disturb you?"

Trace swallowed hard, forcing down a mouthful of rubbery egg white. He looked up, meeting Jed's eyes. What he saw there almost brought his meager breakfast back up.

Jed knew. He knew it was no coincidence that Lily hadn't been in her room the night before. He knew that Trace had kept her with him deliberately. He should have been angry or ashamed or defiant, but that wasn't the emotion Trace saw. There was a kind of sly amusement in his bloodshot eyes, a challenge. Trace swallowed hard, dropping his eyes to his plate. He didn't care that Jed would see his action as fear. If he looked at his stepfather for another instant, he was going to go for his throat. Rage like he'd never known before threatened to take control of him. He wanted to feel Jed's flesh beneath his hands, wanted to feel the life draining out of him. He wanted it so badly he could taste the desire to kill.

He jerked, startled, as a small hand touched the fist that lay clenched against his thigh. Hidden beneath the table, Lily's tiny fingers closed over his hesitantly. Trace looked up, meeting her gaze. Her emerald eyes were wide, holding a tinge of fear. She sensed his anger but was uncertain of its origin or target. Staring into her eyes, Trace felt his rage shift from a white-hot need for violence to cold determination. This was one battle Jed wasn't going to win.