Molly tried valiantly, but after a few minutes her arms felt like lead weights and she laid down the paddle with a sigh.
Biddy cuffed her on the side of the head, sending her senses reeling. ‘Twenty minutes, I said.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can if you want to eat tonight.’
Molly knew that was no idle threat, but even then she could only manage a few minutes at a time, and every time she stopped, Biddy would clout her. But she hardly cared, for the pain in her arms and her back was worse than anything Biddy could do. When eventually Biddy called a halt and began to scoop the butter out and shape it, Molly’s arms continued to shake.
They still ached when she joined Tom in the cowshed later, and when Tom saw the stiff way that she was working, he asked her if she was all right. He was angry when he learned that she had done the churning all on her own. She was so slight, for one thing, and she hadn’t been brought up to it, but he knew that there was no point in him saying anything about it.
‘There was so much butter too,’ Molly said. ‘What do you do with it all?’
‘What nearly everyone does,’ Tom said. ‘We have a stall in the Market Hall in Buncrana on Saturdays and we sell the surplus there.’
‘Oh,’ Molly said, delighted at the prospect of leaving the farm. ‘Do you go every Saturday?’
‘Aye,’ Tom said. ‘But I doubt that you would be let go.’
‘Why not?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I have given up trying to understand my mother, but she said you are to be left here.’
There was a flash of disappointment, but Molly knew there was no point worrying about a situation she couldn’t change. At least this way she was going to be free of her grandmother for a few hours.
‘What I was going to suggest,’ Tom said, breaking in on her thoughts, ‘was that if you wanted to write to your grandfather and all, I could post the letters for you in Buncrana.’
‘Oh, Uncle Tom that would be great,’ Molly cried. ‘Granddad packed everything that he thought I might need – paper, envelopes, he even managed to get hold of some Irish stamps – but I couldn’t imagine how I would post any letters and so I haven’t used anything yet.’
‘Well, that is one problem solved,’ Tom said. ‘You just get the letters written and I will do the rest. Now, sit you up on that milking stool and rub your arms to get the feeling back and leave the rest of the milking to me tonight.’
Molly was grateful to her uncle and sat back with a sigh of relief. For once, she didn’t mind that Biddy roared at her as soon as she was in the door, to get on the porridge for supper and not take all night over it, because her head was full of the letters that she intended writing that night.
Feeling sure that Biddy would object and make disparaging remarks, Molly left the writing of the letters until she was in her room. Normally, she was so tired when she went to bed that she fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but that night excitement drove sleep from her and she sat in her bed and wrote feverishly by the light of a candle.
Knowing that neither Hilda or her grandfather could do anything to change the situation she was in, she didn’t tell them that she didn’t attend school any more, and very little about her grandmother at all. She did tell them of Tom and how welcoming he had been, how kind and patient he was teaching her things about farming life, and how she enjoyed helping him out on the farm. She knew that they would be pleased by that and she urged them to write back soon for she was desperate for news of them all.
Molly couldn’t believe the relief she felt when she watched Biddy drive off with Tom that first Saturday – and that was despite the long list of jobs awaiting her. She had hoped that they would stay away the whole day. However, Tom had said that their business would probably be completed by dinner-time, and when she caught a glimpse of the cart turning in the head of the lane, about half-past twelve, she felt her heart sink.
Molly knew that it was too much to expect her grandmother to be pleased with anything she did and this was just as well, because that way she wasn’t either surprised or disappointed with Biddy’s reaction. In fact, she was far more interested in the fresh fish that Tom had brought home. He gutted it and had it in the pan above the fire in no time at all, and it tasted so delicious when they sat down to eat it.
The house had to be spotless and a batch of baking done for Sunday, so Molly was run off her feet all afternoon, glad after washing up the tea things to escape with Tom to the cowshed.
Molly had already got the Mass clothes ready for them all for the following morning and cleaned the shoes as her grandmother had bade. Now, as she emerged in the door after the milking that evening, Biddy said, ‘Time you had a bath, girl.’
Molly, used to an indoor bathroom, had wondered about that. Her grandfather had had no bathroom either, and had told Molly that he, Phoebe and Ted too, before he was married, would bath in front of the fire. Molly had presumed she would have to do the same here, and this was proved when Biddy ordered Tom to fetch the bath in from the barn while a large pot of water was put over the fire to heat.
The galvanised bath Tom brought in looked neither large, nor very comfortable, but Molly was less concerned about that than she was about where Tom would go, for she had no intention of taking one stitch of clothing off in front of him. Fortunately, he stayed only long enough to mix the hot water and cold water together before leaving to tramp the hills while Molly washed herself.
Despite the fairly primitive conditions, Molly would have enjoyed her bath, if it hadn’t been for the presence of her grandmother, sitting in the chair watching her. She wondered at the ability the woman had of changing the atmosphere of a room just by being in it, and so she had no intention of lingering over her wash, which was just as well because she had barely rinsed the soap off before her grandmother was urging her to hurry up.
She was, however, dressed in her pyjamas and slippers and her towelled hair in plaits before Tom put in an appearance. Then he emptied the bath into the gutter in the yard, despite Biddy telling him to leave it to Molly.
‘She is too slight for this, Mammy,’ he told her. ‘She will do herself an injury. Besides, what sort of a man would it make me to sit idly by and see a child struggle? Molly is worn out. Anyone with half an eye can see it. She needs to seek her bed.’
Molly looked at Tom gratefully, as her grandmother said, ‘I will say when she goes to bed.’
‘Is that so?’ Tom snapped, suddenly and uncharacteristically angry as he faced his mother across the room. ‘No one is any use to me who is sluggish through lack of sleep. They are more a liability than anything.’
‘I told you, if Molly doesn’t work then—’
‘She doesn’t eat,’ Tom finished. ‘Don’t start on about that again.’
‘But I do work,’ Molly protested. ‘I do the very best I can.’
Tom nodded in agreement. ‘You do, Molly, but if you are to continue to help me effectively on the farm, then you need proper rest and good food. Surely, Mammy, you can see that yourself?’
Molly was grateful and surprised at her uncle’s intervention but, she noted, not as surprised as her grandmother, whose eyes were narrowed in discontent.
Biddy was almost astounded. Tom had never gone against her before; he always had been easily cowed. She knew what had changed him, however. It was all the fault of that girl. He couldn’t see what a troublemaker she was.
In a way his mother was right, for Tom had only challenged her because