Berta
Berta I was nine the summer I learned what cruelty was. It was then I knew it was true, what Tom had said. Berta really had killed two husbands. Berta was always there, silent and disapproving. She grimly did the chores that came with a house, a big garden and some chickens, and never ever smiled or even acknowledged the children next door. The other kids would giggle and run away when she glared at us with her dark and joyless eyes, and ageless wrinkled face. But I was shy a
