Page 166 of Edge of Unbroken

“Yeah. One time.”

“Tell me about what you remember, Ronan.”

“I got caught drinking by the sheriff. I was out with… a friend. We were drinking in her truck and the sheriff pulled up on us. We were both underage. So, the sheriff drove me home. It’s a small town; everyone knows everyone, and the sheriff obviously knew who I was. Nothing happened to me legally, just sort of a ‘don’t do it again.’ Anyways, that night my mom woke me. Yanked me out of bed. I remember it was the dead of winter. It was snowing outside, and she made me walk barefoot through the snow all the way to the barn, which is maybe fifty yards from the house. I was only wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was so fucking cold.”

I listen intently and remember Steve offhandedly telling me about when Ronan got caught drinking with his girlfriend. But Steve thought Ronan didn’t get punished for his offense.

The attorney pushes Ronan to continue.

Ronan’s eyes are unfocused, gazing at nothing as he recalls this particular night. “She closed the door behind her once we were in the barn and then started to scream at me about how embarrassing it was to have the sheriff drop me off. She said I made the whole family look bad. She yelled at me like she always did. And then she told me to turn around and put my hands against the stable door, and she beat me with the broom handle.”

“Where did she hit you?”

“My back and the back of my legs.”

“Did you ask her to stop?” Mr. Cooley asks softly.

“No,” Ronan says heavily.

“Why not?”

The jury is completely invested in Ronan’s story, many sets of eyes brimming with tears, overwhelmed by the hours of painful testimony Ronan has already given with no end in sight. The suffering this boy has endured becomes more and more evident with each word he utters.

“Same reason as always; I learned early on that if I just shut up and bear it, it would be over that much faster. Begging just made her angrier. If I stayed quiet and just took it, usually it was over faster. Not always, but most of the time. I honestly just did what I could to make it through whatever she was doing to me.”

“How long did the beating last?” the attorney asks.

I can’t imagine Ronan would be able to answer that question, but he surprises me. “I don’t know how long it lasted, but she struck me seventeen times,” Ronan says, his voice strained. “She stopped hitting me that night after my knees finally buckled from the pain. And then she walked out of the barn and locked it behind her.”

“Seventeen times? How do you know that, Ronan?”

“Because I counted her hits. I always count them.”

“Why?” The attorney remains close to his wooden desk, not moving closer to Ronan, not encroaching upon his space or impeding the jury’s view of Ronan, who has everyone’s undivided attention.

“I started counting her hits when I was around twelve. It helped me… It helped me make it through the beatings. It was something to focus on other than the pain, you know? It helped me stay quiet.” There’s a tremor in Ronan’s voice, and I can tell by the slight shaking of his hands that he’s bouncing his leg behind the wooden skirt of the table.

“When your mother stopped hitting you and she walked out of the barn, where were you?” Mr. Cooley asks. He wants Ronan to paint the picture. My eyes feel dry and raw from the tears I’ve already spilled today.

“Still in the barn, kneeling on the ground.”

“Your mother locked you in the barn, at night?”

Ronan nods. “Yeah.”

“In the middle of winter in Montana?”

"Yes."

“Wearing only sweatpants and a t-shirt?”

"Yeah."

There are moments when even Darren Cooley is left speechless by the cruelty Ronan endured, and this is one of those moments. He takes a minute to compose himself. “How long did your mother leave you locked in that barn?”

“I don’t know how long I was in there before she finally came back and let me out. I just remember how damn cold it was. By the time she let me out I couldn’t feel my hands and feet.”

“Do you know whether anyone noticed you missing that night?”

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