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Authors: Annie Murray
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sunlight and the stunned expression on the man’s ill-shaven face.
At his feet lay the shape of her child. Even in the few moments since it had happened someone had run into their house and brought out an old torn net curtain and laid it over Violet, covering her completely.
Dora saw the ghostly features of her little girl’s face through the two layers of net and the blood soaking into the slippery material. ‘What d’you go and cover her face for?’ she shouted.
She knelt down quickly and pulled back the soft curtain. Her face was expressionless as a stone as she saw the deep wound in Violet’s skull and the shards of bone sticking out at grotesque angles. She was dead. Clearly, from the second that the horse’s hoof had smashed into the right side of her head she had had no chance of being anything else.
The man with the cart was distraught. ‘I hadn’t a chance, Missis. She was just there, under the horse. I never even saw her till it were too late.’
Dora nodded at him numbly. She felt no anger towards him. At this moment she felt nothing. She had no idea why Violet had been there when she should have been in the yard. Gladys Pye appeared and led her home. Someone else carried the child’s body back to the house.
When Sid came home he stood looking down at her as she sat unmoving at the table. He put his face close up to hers, his breath stinking of beer.
‘Can’t even look out for your own kid now, can you?’
Three days later Rose was banging hard on the door of the vicarage.
When Catherine opened the door and saw the girl’s pinched face and the look of desperation in her eyes she immediately led her inside and sat down with her. Ronald arrived as well, back from conducting a baptism service.
‘It’s me mom,’ Rose said, starting to cry as the words came out of her mouth. All the anguish of the past days started to pour out of her. ‘Our Violet was killed by a horse on Wednesday.’
Catherine and Ronald looked at each other, appalled, but something stopped Catherine from following her instinct to put her arms round the girl. Rose was a warm person, but there was still a self-contained, dignified core to her that they’d seen in the small child they had carried in from the rain.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ronald said. He knelt down beside her. Catherine watched, fascinated. For once she couldn’t think what to do and Ronald, gentle and sympathetic, knew instinctively.
‘But it’s my mom,’ Rose repeated. ‘She hasn’t said a word since Wednesday when it happened. She just sits there as if something’s gone – you know – in her head. My dad’s blamed her for Violet going. She ran out of the court when she wasn’t s’posed to, on some prank or other. Dad says her getting killed’s all Mom’s fault. But she won’t say nothing. She’ll hardly move or eat or anything.’
She cried harsh, frightened tears.
Ronald suddenly stood up as if something had been decided. ‘I’ll come down and see her,’ he said.
‘ You? ’ Rose and Catherine spoke exactly together.
‘Yes, I,’ he said and smiled wryly at their astonishment. ‘After all, I’m supposed to be a messenger of the Good News, remember. And I presume you came to us for some sort of help, Rose? Well, this is the best I can do.’
Rose, who was suddenly terrified that Sid might be in when they got home, had no idea how much inner turmoil the vicar was experiencing as once again they walked together along the road towards town and Catherine Street. Rose’s head reached above his elbow now, but she still had to make little skips to keep up with his long strides.
Ronald knew this was going to be a decisive morning in his life. He had realized gradually over the past years that he was in the wrong place. That his work in his present parish was not where his heart lay. He had encouraged Rose to tell him more and more about her life in the courtyards, of the conditions they lived in. Now he was going to visit the kind of
At his feet lay the shape of her child. Even in the few moments since it had happened someone had run into their house and brought out an old torn net curtain and laid it over Violet, covering her completely.
Dora saw the ghostly features of her little girl’s face through the two layers of net and the blood soaking into the slippery material. ‘What d’you go and cover her face for?’ she shouted.
She knelt down quickly and pulled back the soft curtain. Her face was expressionless as a stone as she saw the deep wound in Violet’s skull and the shards of bone sticking out at grotesque angles. She was dead. Clearly, from the second that the horse’s hoof had smashed into the right side of her head she had had no chance of being anything else.
The man with the cart was distraught. ‘I hadn’t a chance, Missis. She was just there, under the horse. I never even saw her till it were too late.’
Dora nodded at him numbly. She felt no anger towards him. At this moment she felt nothing. She had no idea why Violet had been there when she should have been in the yard. Gladys Pye appeared and led her home. Someone else carried the child’s body back to the house.
When Sid came home he stood looking down at her as she sat unmoving at the table. He put his face close up to hers, his breath stinking of beer.
‘Can’t even look out for your own kid now, can you?’
Three days later Rose was banging hard on the door of the vicarage.
When Catherine opened the door and saw the girl’s pinched face and the look of desperation in her eyes she immediately led her inside and sat down with her. Ronald arrived as well, back from conducting a baptism service.
‘It’s me mom,’ Rose said, starting to cry as the words came out of her mouth. All the anguish of the past days started to pour out of her. ‘Our Violet was killed by a horse on Wednesday.’
Catherine and Ronald looked at each other, appalled, but something stopped Catherine from following her instinct to put her arms round the girl. Rose was a warm person, but there was still a self-contained, dignified core to her that they’d seen in the small child they had carried in from the rain.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ronald said. He knelt down beside her. Catherine watched, fascinated. For once she couldn’t think what to do and Ronald, gentle and sympathetic, knew instinctively.
‘But it’s my mom,’ Rose repeated. ‘She hasn’t said a word since Wednesday when it happened. She just sits there as if something’s gone – you know – in her head. My dad’s blamed her for Violet going. She ran out of the court when she wasn’t s’posed to, on some prank or other. Dad says her getting killed’s all Mom’s fault. But she won’t say nothing. She’ll hardly move or eat or anything.’
She cried harsh, frightened tears.
Ronald suddenly stood up as if something had been decided. ‘I’ll come down and see her,’ he said.
‘ You? ’ Rose and Catherine spoke exactly together.
‘Yes, I,’ he said and smiled wryly at their astonishment. ‘After all, I’m supposed to be a messenger of the Good News, remember. And I presume you came to us for some sort of help, Rose? Well, this is the best I can do.’
Rose, who was suddenly terrified that Sid might be in when they got home, had no idea how much inner turmoil the vicar was experiencing as once again they walked together along the road towards town and Catherine Street. Rose’s head reached above his elbow now, but she still had to make little skips to keep up with his long strides.
Ronald knew this was going to be a decisive morning in his life. He had realized gradually over the past years that he was in the wrong place. That his work in his present parish was not where his heart lay. He had encouraged Rose to tell him more and more about her life in the courtyards, of the conditions they lived in. Now he was going to visit the kind of
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