In fact, I am beginning to wonder if you’re capable of doing your job responsibly.’
Surprised by Molly Tanner’s verbal attack, the headmistress asked an older, responsible child to return Rosie to her mother, who then marched Rosie out of the school, and onto the cart. Again, Rosie thought she glimpsed a young woman standing a distance away, but by the time Rosie was seated, there was not a sign of anyone about.
On the way home, Molly complained incessantly. ‘You cause me nothing but aggravation. I should never have had you in the first place. I never wanted kids, but it didn’t matter what I wanted – oh, no! Because your father wanted to play daddy! But who is it that has to take care of you, eh? Me! That’s who. From the day you were born, you’ve been like a real thorn in my side!’
She gave Rosie a stark warning. ‘If I get called in again by your teacher, I’ll take the cane to you myself, and I promise you I will not be lenient with it.’
When suddenly the horse stumbled into a shallow pothole, she angrily flicked the whip over his back, causing him to throw his head up and lose his footing momentarily.
When she prepared to raise the whip again, Rosie cried out, ‘Please, Mummy, don’t hurt him.’
‘What have I told you, girl?’ Molly glared at Rosie. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do and what not to do?’ She viciously flicked the whip in the air again. ‘Think yourself fortunate … after what you did at school, you’re lucky I haven’t taken the whip to you!’
All the way home, the volley of abuse continued: ‘I have never been so humiliated. I warn you, my girl, you’d best tell me what lies you’ve been spreading.’
Rosie assured her mother that she had not said anything to anyone, but as always her words fell on deaf ears.
When they arrived back at the farmhouse, Rosie was snatched off the cart and given a sound thrashing, but even as the frightened girl was sobbing, Molly Tanner showed no remorse.
At eight years of age, Rosie’s cousin Harry was a well-built and handsome boy. The son of her uncle Patrick, Harry loved nothing better than doing odd jobs at Tanner’s Farm after school.
Now, on hearing the commotion, he went at the run across the yard, yelling, ‘Uncle John!’
He found John in the far barn, chopping firewood.
‘You’d best come quick.’ Harry was in a panic. ‘It sounds like there’s trouble over by the house.’
Swinging the heavy axe into the log of wood, Rosie’s father wiped the sweat from his face, and threw off his thick gloves. ‘What d’you mean, boy? What kind o’ trouble?’
‘I’m not sure, but there was a lot of shouting and yelling. I think I heard Rosie cry out, so I thought I’d best find you, and quick.’
‘You did right, Harry.’ John hurried towards the house with the boy following close behind.
Turning the corner, and with the house now in his view, John was shocked at what he saw. It was painfully obvious that his wife was in one of her vicious moods, with Rosie at her mercy.
‘Molly!’ Surging forward, he screamed out, ‘Leave the child alone!’
He quickly realised that Rosie had her arms folded across her face so as to protect herself, but she was no match for the woman who was viciously thrashing her with the belt from her coat.
John threw himself between his wife and the child. ‘For God’s sake, woman! What the hell is wrong with you?’
Taking her by the arms, he thrust Molly away and grabbed Rosie to him. Then, giving her into Harry’s safekeeping, he shot forward to pin his wife against the cart. ‘What kind of bully are you, eh? Just look at her – whatever she might have done, she did not deserve a beating like that. What kind of a mother are you, for pity’s sake?’
Without a backward glance, and filling the air with obscenities, Molly fled into the house and slammed the door behind her.
‘Ssh … it’s all right, sweetheart, you’re safe now.’ John went to collect Rosie from his nephew, who was still visibly shaken by what he had witnessed.
‘Don’t worry, son,’ John assured him, ‘Rosie will be all right. Just leave the stables for now – I’ll finish them later – but please see to the horse. He looks badly shaken.’
The horse was foaming at the mouth and anxiously treading the ground with his front hoofs, as though at any minute he might take flight.
John stroked a tender hand over the horse’s neck. ‘Easy, boy,’ he quietly reassured him, ‘you’re in safe hands now.’
Mindful of Rosie, and eager to get her inside, he said to Harry, ‘I’ll check him thoroughly the minute I can, but could you gently unshackle him and make him comfortable in the stable? Make sure he’s got water and hay in the rack.’
Though desperate to get Rosie indoors, John swiftly examined the horse to reassure himself that this gentle animal was not badly injured, and when he saw the shadowy stripes of the whip, he had to hold back his temper. ‘Rushed through the lanes, and whipped for your trouble, eh, boy?’ He ran a firm but gentle hand over the horse’s velvety neck and back. ‘No lasting damage, though, thank goodness.’
Scooping Rosie into his arms, he then began to make his way to the house, calling to Harry as he went, ‘Just run the cart into the barn and leave it. When the old fella is calm and fed, you should go home. Your mother will be watching for you.’
Harry was still shocked at the way Molly had vented her anger on the lovely Rosie, and by the look of the horse’s back he also had taken a harsh punishment. Like Rosie, that quiet old horse did not have a bad bone in his body, so what could either the horse or Rosie have done to warrant such a beating?
He was deeply concerned about Rosie, and so he told John, ‘I don’t want to go home yet. Please may I stay with the horse until you come back out?’
John understood and was grateful for Harry’s concern. ‘You’re a great help to me,’ he told him. ‘Remember, just keep the old horse calm, and I’ll be out as soon as I can.’
Now, his priority had to be Rosie. The little girl was his life.
He felt Rosie clinging tighter to him the closer they got to the house.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ he promised. ‘Your mother will never hurt you again … not if I can help it.’
Molly watched through the window as her angry husband approached, their daughter in his arms. ‘That’s right,’ she muttered spitefully, ‘fussing over the little brat as usual! Oh, but don’t worry about me, and the humiliation I’ve endured today, and all because of your precious little innocent.’
When he came into the house, John could hardly look at her. ‘Take a look at what you’ve done. What kind of mother would do such a thing to her own child? You should be ashamed.’
He pointed to two red marks on Rosie’s arm where her mother had held her in a vicious grip. Dark bruises on her neck and face were becoming increasingly visible, and trickles of blood were running from her nose.
Molly looked away.
‘Yes! You should look away,’ John said in a low, trembling voice. ‘This is your daughter, just turned five years old, and this is how you treat her.’ He pointed to the swelling weals and bruises on Rosie’s face and arms. ‘What you’ve done here is assault … pure and simple. People get put away for less than this. If it was reported to the police, you’d be locked up for a long time, and you would damned well deserve it, too!’
‘Hmm!’ Taking a step closer, Molly sneered, ‘Report me then, why don’t you?’
John glared at his wife in disgust. ‘I