There was a barn. We could hide there. He would come looking for us. He would have his whip, his ropes that he would tie you with. He would strip you. Then, he would rip your flesh clean off your back. There was nothing he could do to make it better. I was scared to death of him until the day he died. There was a barn. He always found us. I can still smell the old oak posts he tied me to. The wood tasted like Scotch and apples.