In Aylesford, Sunday meant church.
Carriages lined the winding hill road leading up to the white church perched atop the green slope. Wispy clouds floated like white heron wings across an unusually bright blue sky.
Reverend Chamberlain stood at the entrance to the chapel, greeting his congregation. Now in his forties, the pale, frail man reminded one of a tall birch tree. The front yard of the church, bright with red geraniums carefully tended by Mrs. Chamberlain, buzzed with greetings and laughter as children ran about.
Soon, the church bell rang out from the steeple, signaling that the service was about to begin. Young parents leaned out the windows, calling to their children.
“Andrew, Miles! Come inside now, it’s almost time!”
Some mothers had to go fetch the little ones themselves when calling didn’t work. Most adults believed that children over the age of eight were old enough to attend and understand the sermon.
But for the children, the Sunday service was not a spiritual experience—it was a test of endurance against boredom and drowsiness.
“Mom, I want to keep playing with my friends!”
“I said no. Charles! Get in here right now!”
The Panning couple herded their three sons inside the chapel. Rose, trailing behind, stopped to gaze wistfully at her brothers being dragged away.
At seven, little Rose still had the Sunday privilege of play. She skipped toward the backyard of the church, where other children her age would be gathered.
The ribbons of her round bonnet fluttered, and the blue hem of the dress her mother had sewn the night before danced with her steps. Her small shoes, though reluctantly worn, were already dusted in dirt.
Rose hated wearing shoes, but there was no winning that argument on church days.
In the backyard, children played in groups. Some were the same ones who had left Rose out at Sadie River just the day before. Still, she didn’t seem to mind.
Her heart was too soft for hatred, and her life too full of joy to make room for sorrow.
“Hi, everyone!”
She called out brightly, though no one responded. But Rose always announced herself like this, inadvertently giving the others a chance to scatter.
“Ugh, it’s that snotty little brat!”
The girls skipping rope nearby bolted. Others simply ignored her.
Even as they ran from her, Rose grinned like a fool. Her eyes soon landed on a familiar face—Edmund—who had come to church early with his parents. His yellow ribbon glowed like sunshine, drawing her gaze.
There he was again, handsome as ever, reading a book on a bench. A cluster of girls nearby sneaked glances at him, giggling with flushed faces.
Just like always, Rose started walking toward him to say hello.
But before she could call out, a booming voice cut through the air. It was chubby Luca, his belly so round it looked like it might burst from his shirt.
“Hey Edmund! Look, your ugly fiancée’s here!”
Edmund looked up from his book, saw Rose, and immediately scowled.
Laughter erupted at Luca’s comment, and Edmund’s frown turned crimson.
“She’s not my fiancée!”
His sharp denial stopped Rose in her tracks. She froze, lifting a hand to wipe her runny nose, embarrassment clouding her face.
But she didn’t sulk for long. Before gloom could settle in, she found something new to distract her.
She noticed Luca and a few other boys nearby, picking up stones with slingshots in hand—the exact kind she’d seen in her brothers’ room. Her eyes lit up.
“We have slingshots like that at home too!”
She approached Luca excitedly, but he shoved her hard.
“Get lost, you filthy brat!”
“Ahh!”
Rose toppled to the ground. Yet no one around seemed surprised—getting shoved aside was an ordinary part of Rose’s day.
The only one startled was Edmund. He blinked at the sight of Luca pushing a girl to the ground.
“I told you not to come near me!”
Luca growled, advancing menacingly. Rose flinched, eyes wide with fear. Had Daniel Ford not called out just then, Luca might have kicked her.
“Luca! Look, over there! It’s a bird!”
“A bird?! Where?!”
Luca abandoned Rose and ran off. Edmund, watching from his bench, finally exhaled the breath he’d been holding.
Even if he disliked Rose, the idea of a boy hitting a girl made him instinctively rise—but the thought of stopping Luca had made his heart pound in fear. Now that the danger was gone, he sat back down and reopened his book.
The “bird” the boys had spotted was just a limping rooster, escaped from old Miss Janice’s yard.
They were disappointed that it wasn’t wild or fast, but boredom left them hungry for entertainment.
“Oh well. We’ll catch this one instead.”
Luca and the boys loaded their slingshots with stones. Pebbles whizzed toward the ailing bird.
Bawk! Bawk!
The rooster flapped wildly, then collapsed in the grass.
The boys didn’t stop. They fired again and again. A crowd of children gathered to watch.
Edmund kept reading—he had no interest in tormenting injured creatures.
Then he heard a voice shriek in panic.
“No! Ronald!”
He turned. Rose, face pale with horror, had spotted the rooster and dashed toward it.
“Ronald?” someone scoffed.
“She named the chicken?”
“Move, brat!”
Luca snarled, but Rose threw herself over the fallen rooster, arms wrapped protectively around it like a mother hen.
“Stop it! Ronald’s hurt!”
When she wouldn’t move, Luca shouted, “Just hit her too!”
“You got it, boss!”
The boys aimed at her now. Even small stones hurt. Rose was soon crying loudly from the pain.
Edmund froze on the bench. He hadn’t expected it to go this far. Her sobs snapped him back, but instead of intervening, he bolted toward the adults.
Before he could take three steps, a furious shout thundered across the backyard.
“Hey!”
It was the Panning brothers—Charles, Felix, and Chris—who’d snuck out of service saying they needed the outhouse, only to hear their little sister crying.
They didn’t mind teasing her themselves, but no one else was allowed to make her cry.
Startled like chicks before a hawk, the other children scattered.
The slingshot boys, too, ran for their lives. Only one couldn’t escape—Luca. Slower and heavier, he tripped and fell flat.
“Agh!”
He scrambled up, but the brothers had already reached him.
“You fat pig, you’re dead meat!”
“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”
Felix and Chris grabbed him without mercy while Charles sprinted toward Rose.
“Idiot! Why are you just sitting there crying?!”
He was angrier at Rose than at Luca—for crying instead of fighting back.
In the Panning boys’ world, you hit back harder or you got flattened.
“Get up!”
He grabbed her by the scruff and yanked her up. Already heartbroken by the slingshots, Rose burst into even louder tears at her brother’s yelling.
Charles didn’t care. He dragged her toward the pile of stones, shoved a slingshot into her hand, and pointed at Luca, who was now being restrained by the other two.
“Shoot him!”
Rose, who had never hurt anyone in her life, simply wept.
Charles lost it. “Ugh, you idiot!”
He smacked her lightly on the back of the head.
In the end, the Panning boys handled the revenge themselves.
They kicked Luca’s plump backside until he screamed and ran off in tears.
“Get lost, you lard ball!”
Charles shouted after him. Then he warned the others that if anyone dared touch Rose again, they’d deal with him too.
With that, the three brothers and their still-sniffling sister left the yard behind.
