The Code of the Hills by Nancy Allen

back of the class, daydreaming while the teacher talked.
    After school, Donita and her sister would take the long way home, walking by the Dari Sweet where the boys hung out. Kris Taney was generally there, smoking and shouting at the passersby. He was the baddest boy in town. Mean as a snake.
    So when he started sniffing after Donita, it took her by surprise. At the time, she thought it was a compliment, a distinction, having a tough like Kris chase after her.
    She wasn’t much older than Charlene when she turned up pregnant. They got married pretty quick after that. It was funny to think how glad she was back then, to cast her lot with Kris Taney. She thought she was lucky to get out of her daddy’s house.
    From the frying pan into the fire.
    Donita blew the smoke out with a sober expression. She didn’t like to think about her daddy, not even with him long dead and buried in Arkansas. She was glad when he died, shameful as it was to admit it. Part of her would always hate him. She wasn’t sure how old she was the first time she’d had to take care of her daddy, but she was just a little thing. He made her do it with her hand, at first. Sometimes he’d rub up against her in bed. Before long he said she was ready to be a woman.
    It was god-­awful, that’s a fact. But when she went to her mother that night, Mama refused to give comfort or solace. Donita would never forget the closed look on her mother’s face, the set of her jaw as her mother disentangled herself from her frantic grip.
    â€œYou don’t know what he done, Mama.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear it. Go to bed.”
    â€œYou got to stop him.” Donita clutched at her mother’s dress, but the woman held her off.
    â€œ ‘Wives submit to your husband, as to the Lord .’ Bible says. Daddy’s the boss of this house. Now you get to bed.”
    â€œI got to tell you what he done.”
    Donita’s mother snatched her by the upper arm and hissed in her ear, “You don’t never tell. Nobody. Never.”
    She remembered that her mother had relented a little after that, possibly at the stricken look on her face. Mama patted her arm and whispered, “Don’t you think about it, Donita. Think about something else.” Grimly she’d advised, “Think about heaven.”
    Donita had followed her mother’s orders. She never told a soul, and she tried to think about something else when he came to her.
    It was advice she passed on to her daughters. Char had been nine years old when Kris started in on her. Donita knew that for a fact, because she was pregnant with Tiffany, about ready to pop, when it happened the first time. She should have seen it coming. She’d seen the look in his eye as he watched Char. He’d corner her behind the sofa or run a hand up her thigh.
    But Charlene put up a fight, that was for sure, hollering and carrying on till Donita came running, holding her belly with both hands. He had Charlene pinned on the bed—­the marriage bed they’d made their babies in. Charlene was fighting like a bobcat, trying to scratch his face. He was too drunk to catch her wrists.
    Donita tried to help her girl. She grabbed Kris’s shoulder, said he didn’t know what he was doing, he had to stop. He reared back and kicked her in the stomach so hard, she went flying against the wall. Huddled in pain, she clutched her middle, scared she’d lose the baby. Looking up, she could see that he’d done it. He was going at it with Charlene under him.
    She couldn’t watch. Crawling out of the room on all fours, Donita lay on the carpet in the hallway, waiting for it to end. It’s just because I’ m so fat with this baby , she told herself. He don’t want me with my belly this way. After the baby, he’ll leave her alone .
    Of course, she was wrong. It happened again, regardless of her protests. And by the time he started up with Kristy,