We were each assigned a bucket or a basin and told to start scrubbing. “Mammy never made me wash me own trousers,” Owen said, trying to get out of the assignment.
“And that’s why she had you ruined,” Kathleen responded.
Molly tried next. “But the water’s ice cold,” she complained.
Kathleen wasn’t about to accept excuses. “It’ll warm when you start scrubbing,” she said. Sunday mass was fast approaching and Kathleen was determined to have us looking our best. She didn’t want to give the neighbors anything to whisper about. “If you want to show Uncle Tom we’re able to take care of ourselves, you’ll stop bellyaching and get to work,” she said.
Ann sighed, knowing Kathleen was right. “Can we at least have a cup of tea to warm our hands around?” she asked.
“Tea would be lovely,” Bridie added, “wouldn’t it?”
I hopped up to put the kettle on the hob before Kathleen had a chance to deny the request. “It’s empty,” I said.
“I needed the water for the washing. If you’re that bad off for tea, you’ll have to fill the kettle,” Kathleen said, and she started rubbing away in her basin.
Happy to escape the washing, if only for a moment, I volunteered for the job. As I crossed the yard, I expected Shep to come trotting over to greet me. I still hadn’t gotten used to being without him. There had been so many changes recently, I hadn’t the chance to adjust to them yet. On my way back from the well with the kettle full of water, I heard the clatter of horse hooves coming up the main road. Who on earth would be coming up this way at this time of the evening? I asked myself. Only two farms were higher up the road than we were—the Kellehers and our cousin Hugh Baxter—and it wasn’t likely that anyone would be visiting them this late in the day.
Clackety, clackety, clack. The sound of horse hooves was getting closer. Sometimes a stray horse got out on the road, but I could tell this was no stray. A stray almost always stops to eat grass. This horse didn’t stop; it was being driven and driven hard. Somebody was with this horse. But who?
I was about to run into the house to warn the others when the horse turned and started down the lane to our house. At that point I could see the horse was Big Red—our horse—and he was being ridden by our uncle Tom McGovern, from Bawnboy. Uncle Tom had borrowed Big Red a couple of weeks earlier, and we all missed him terribly. I was glad to see my uncle bringing him home where he belonged.
Before Big Red came to a halt beside me, Uncle Tom was on the ground and moving toward the house. When he threw the reins on top of me, he caught me off guard. I dropped the kettle, spilling nearly half of its contents. He never said anything like “hold the horse till I get back.” In fact, he never even said “Hello, John Joe.” He just charged into the house.
“Come on, all of you, yous are all coming with me to Kilsub,” I heard him say in a rough tone.
“We are not going anywhere with you,” Kathleen screamed back. “We are staying right here.” Kathleen, at age 15, was the oldest of the six of us. She was followed by Bridie, 14; Molly, 13; Ann, 12; myself, 10; and Owen, 9. As the oldest, Kathleen never let anyone push her around, but tough as she was, she was no match for Uncle Tom.
“Yous are all coming with me should I have to drag yous out by the ears,” Uncle Tom threatened.
“Mammy told me to take care of us all, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Kathleen replied.
During the commotion that followed, Big Red was fidgety and nervous. I struggled to keep him from trampling me to death as I strained to hear what was going on in the house.
“Come on, come on,” Uncle Tom roared.
“Let me go,” Kathleen screamed.
I could hear the cries of Owen, Ann, Molly, and Bridie, as well. ”Let her go!” “You’re going to kill her!” “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
“Willing or not, yous are all coming with me,” Uncle Tom said as he pushed Kathleen out the door, grabbing her hair with one hand and her wrist with the other. “You may as well make it easy on yourselves.”
Kathleen kicked and cursed and bit at his hand until Uncle Tom finally lost his grip on her. She ran away behind me and the horse, but Uncle Tom was right behind her. He grabbed one of her arms with both his hands but Kathleen swung her free arm and thrashed away, looking like she might get the better of him.
Big Red was not about to stand still much longer, but I knew I couldn’t let him go. I held on with every ounce of strength I had. As Kathleen and Uncle Tom circled me in battle, Owen and my other sisters followed close behind them, trying desperately to put an end to the fighting. “Stop it, Kathleen; he’s going to kill you! Stop it!” they cried.
When Uncle Tom pulled off his belt and started beating Kathleen with it, Big Red reared up. The force of his front hoof sent the kettle flying over the stone wall in the yard. I nearly lost hold of the reins. “Hold that friggin’ horse, you,” Uncle Tom shouted at me. At that moment, I might have preferred being stomped to what Uncle Tom had done to Kathleen. The welts on her bare arms looked raw and inflamed, and she had collapsed into an uncontrollable crying spasm.
“Give me them reins,” Uncle Tom snapped, as he snatched them from my hands. “You expect to be a man someday? Hah!”
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