by Lee Savino
She tried to answer, but her orgasm washed over her and turned her words into wordless cries.
He went on his back and guided her on top of him, pulling her hips down so she sat on his cock. Her head flew back and she yelped, feeling him deeper than she’d ever felt him before. It was awhile before she could move, but when she found her wits, she rocked naturally. Miles’ hands guided her up and down.
“This is how you ride me,” he said, and then his orgasm took him.
She lay atop of his shuddering body, then kissed him. Rising slowly, she started to go to the fire for a rag to clean them both. The bindings gave her pause.
“Leave them,” Miles ordered.
“What if I fall?”
“You may crawl. Twill be a pretty sight.”
Carrie moaned.
Walking carefully, she hobbled to the hearth and back. The leather strips around her feet allowed only tiny, mincing steps, and she did her best to go from the bed to the hearth without falling down.
When she made it back, Miles opened his arms to welcome her.
“I may keep you tied like that all week. Naked and waiting for me.”
Her lower parts clenched at the thought.
Miles’ rough hand found her chin and turned it to him. “I love you, Carrie.” He kissed her roughly, beard scraping her soft cheeks. “I’ll bind you to me with cords of love so you’ll never leave again.”
That week it felt like they barely left the bed, and Carrie was sure her body would soon grow big with Miles’ child. She told him this, and he redoubled his efforts to keep her satiated and full of his seed. At night she dreamed of giving birth to a baby with tawny eyes.
They rode to church the next Sunday, swaying together in the wagon and holding hands. When they arrived at the little white house, Miles helped Carrie down with a smile, and she waited until he unhitched the wagon and saw to the horses so they could enter arm in arm.
They found a surprise guest as part of the growing gathering in the little parlor.
“Mr. Martin?” Carrie greeted the shopkeeper.
“I reckon the shop can stand to be empty for an hour or two,” Martin said. The little man looked uncomfortable in a fine vest and white shirt over his usual black slacks.
“And we’re so glad to have you.” Esther swept in, beaming, and the shopkeeper mopped his head with his handkerchief furiously. She and Carrie shared a private smile.
“Reverend. Martin.” Miles shook the men’s hands and then settled his wife in on a faded chaise.
The gathering came together and the Reverend called on Miles to pray before Esther led them all in a hymn. Then the Reverend asked Carrie to read the passage. She opened her little white bible and did so, blushing and grateful for Miles’ hand skimming her back the whole time.
The Reverend had just started his sermon when the door flew open. Everyone jumped, and Lyle stood there, clad in black and scowling.
“I hear you want to talk to me,” he slurred, and Carrie noticed he was swaying a little on his feet. Drunk.
“Lyle.” Miles stood.
“No,” Lyle roared. “You’re so high and mighty with your perfect wife. Well, read this and she won’t be perfect anymore.” The man fumbled for a paper in his vest pocket.
Behind her husband, Carrie cowered a little.
“I have a letter from her own brother. She lay with a man before matrimony, then lied to everyone to save face.” Lyle threw the paper on the floor. “There’s your proof. Now you know what it’s like to marry a whore—”
In a single stride, Miles made it across the room and cracked his fist into Lyle’s pretty face. Carrie yelped and the rest of the town leaped to their feet.
The drunk man staggered back and tripped off the doorstep, with Miles following him outside the house.
“Miles,” Carrie shrieked as Lyle regained his feet and dashed forward to plow into her husband. Miles staggered backwards, but then the tide turned and he threw Lyle off, following up with another savage blow to the tall man’s middle. Lyle crumbled over, but did not go down, and Miles stayed close, fists ready.
The Reverend and Mr. Martin rushed outside, grabbing at Lyle and shouting at Miles. The rest of the men followed and pulled the two men apart, although they didn’t have to hold Miles for long. Carrie rushed to him and he took her into his arms.
“Call my Mary a tart; she’s the tart,” Lyle spat at Carrie, struggling to throw off the men’s restraining arms.
Before anyone else could do anything, Esther stepped forward and slapped him full across the face. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
“Amen,” said her husband, as Lyle sagged in his human bonds.
“It’s my fault,” Reverend Shepherd said. “I must take at least partial blame. I wrote her brother to see if he could shed insight on why she had bad dreams. I thought only to help. I didn’t know you could write, Mrs. Donovan. And I certainly didn’t realize our mailman would act dishonorably.”
The group of them rested in Esther’s kitchen. Lyle was upstairs, sleeping off the stupor brought on by drunkenness and Miles’ blow to his head.
Carrie found she couldn’t hold anything against the tall Revered for long, and told him so. He smiled down at her, so kind that Carrie wondered why she was afraid to tell them all the truth.
When they first come into the kitchen, Carrie had cried and confessed. Miles kept his arm around her the whole time.
“I believe my wife,” he told the Shepherds. “Anyone who judges her will answer to me.”
“And to God.” Reverend Shepherd looked angry. “Even if you were at fault—and I know you were not—they had no cause to treat you that way. I am ashamed of my fellow church leaders.”
Esther hugged her. “I wish they were here,” she whispered, sounding very fierce. “I’d teach them a lesson.”
“Thank you. You proved it today,” Carrie whispered back. “You were so brave.”
“You’re worth it.” Esther smiled at her, then said to Miles, “Do you need a bandage for your hand? I know it must hurt, hitting such a hard headed man.”
“Now, Esther.” Her husband frowned.
“No, ma’am.” Miles flexed his fingers, then held the hand out for Carrie. She went to his side swiftly. “Ready to leave?” he asked her softly, and she was just about to answer when Mr. Martin burst in, crowding the other four in the tiny kitchen.
“He’s awake now. And I’ve relieved him of his mailman duties. He swore an oath, after all.”
“Where will he go?” the Reverend asked. “His homestead is gone, and if someone settles the land, they could have rights to his mine.”
Martin shrugged. “Not my concern.”
Carrie tugged at her husband. “We should do something.”
Miles frowned down at her. “After all he’s done?”
“He’s hurting,” Carrie reminded him.
“Ever since his wife Mary died, he’s been taken with grief,” Esther said. “I should’ve spoken up sooner.”
“No.” Miles addressed the group, though his gaze was only for Carrie. “I should’ve. He was my friend since we were boys. It was my responsibility to help him.”
The stairs to the Shepherd’s bedroom creaked, and Carrie was sure Lyle would hear them long before they arrived, particularly Miles’ measured tread.
Sure enough, when they poked their head in the bedroom, Lyle was alert, but he’d turned his back to the door and face to the wall. Carrie could still see the edge of a bruise wrapping around his proud cheek.
“Come to gloat? Quote more verses? ‘Pride cometh before a fall’, perhaps,” Lyle said with tired sarcasm.
“I’m here to ask forgiveness.” Miles’ deep voice seemed to echo in the small space.
Lyle’s head whipped around. Carrie waited in the doorway while Miles approached his old friend, hat in hand.
“I knew Mary was sickly. I knew how you cared for her. But I was stubborn and proud. I thought you would be judged fo
r taking a wife who’d been a whore.”
Lyle didn’t stop staring at his enemy and one time friend.
“I wanted the consequences to fall,” Miles admitted. “Since then, I’ve had some blessings in my life. I’ve learned that judgment is cruel.” Miles’ hand started to rub the back of his neck, and Carrie came forward and caught it, drawing it into her hand. “You have no cause to forgive me, or trust me again. But I wish you would.”
“We want to help rebuild your homestead, and your herd,” Carrie added. “We know the place brings bad memories. But maybe, like old friendships, it can be redeemed.”
There was a long pause.
“I know not what to say,” Lyle said hoarsely.
“Think on it.” Miles clapped his hat on his head. “In the meantime, we’re here to serve you. Think on it, and remember the days I called you brother.”
The two Donovan’s came down the stairs, with heavy steps but light hearts.
Martin beamed at them. “There you are. I was just speaking of the new prospects for mailman.”
“All settled?” the Reverend asked. His tone mild but eyes sharp.
“As much as they can be.” Miles smiled down at Carrie.
The Reverend nodded. “Forgiveness is a long road. But leads to healing.”
“Aye. We best be off.” Miles shook the Reverend’s hand and tipped his hat to Esther.
“Oh, I nearly forgot. Here’s the letter from your brother. Wilder left it with the mail, too drunk to bring it.”
“Here.” Esther scooted around to make room at the table.
Carrie eagerly smoothed it out and smiled at her brother’s familiar scrawl.
My dear friend, thank you for writing that Carrie is settled in well with her husband. I had expected a letter from her but am sure she is busy with her new duties. Her nightmares are a concern for me. She had them often, particularly after an ill-fated gentleman caller. A man named William Johnston endeared himself to her. He was beloved by many, standing up at church, taking the wolf’s route and disguising himself as one of the flock. I did not like him and forbade Carrie to see him, but she was seduced by his lies. He then pressed himself on her and took word of her indiscretion to the heads of the church in order to circumvent my wishes and receive the blessing to marry her.
Both Carrie and I set ourselves against him, but the church was deceived and treated Carrie most cruelly. I sent her away from Providence, but the lies followed her even there, and, in a fit of unhappiness, she swore she would throw herself into the ocean if some respite couldn’t be had. A few months later, I received your letter along with Miles Donovan.
I hold concern for the man named William Johnston, because he swore he would find Carrie and force her to marry him. I can only write my urgent warning to her new husband, for him to hold and keep Carrie safe from harm.
Give my love to my sister, and tell her to expect a letter soon.
Sincerely,
Thomas Winters
“You were very brave and wonderful, my dear.” Johnathan smiled down at Esther. “But what have I told you about rushing into brawls?”
“I seem to remember some correction on the subject.” Esther’s voice dropped low, remembering Mr. Martin still in the parlor.
“Perhaps a reminder is in order,” the Reverend said.
Esther couldn’t suppress her smile. Her husband patted her on the bottom as she went by him to take coffee to their lingering guest.
“What were you speaking of? Forgive us, Mr. Martin, my husband had a question about our afternoon activities.”
“Oh yes, and I won’t be here long,” the man blabbed, seating himself comfortably on the settee. “Where was I…oh yes. There are a few candidates for mailman in these parts—Wilder’s brother Jesse, if he’d ever stop roaming—but the best may be a man newly moved here from Rhode Island.”
“Rhode Island?” Johnathan asked. “That’s where I studied. And where Thomas Winters resides, Carrie’s brother.”
“Well, wonderful. This gentleman was discharged from the Union army a few months ago and has been searching for a new start. He would’ve joined the Pony Express but came out too late. He expressed interest in the mail, as well as the various families and claims in the area. He wondered if there might be a relation of his here. I told him the names of all the families, and where to find them, and there were no Johnston’s but he was welcome to make his rounds—”
“What was that again?” the Reverend asked in a sharp voice.
“The families would be friendly if he were to ride and introduce himself—”
“No not that.”
“Johnnie, what is it?” Esther set her tea cup down with a clatter.
“The name of the man who abused Carrie—what was it again?”
“William,” Esther said, turning pale. “A William Johnston.”
The two Shepherds sprang to their feet and then looked down at Martin.
“Where is this Johnston?”
The Donovans were more than halfway home when Carrie huffed out a breath.
“What is it?” Miles looked down at his wife.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just don’t understand. Why did he always attack me?”
“You were everything he wanted,” Miles murmured, rubbing her knee. “And made him confront his sorrow.”
“He hated me.”
“It’s over,” Miles said. “We need to forgive him.”
“I know.”
They rode on in silence for a mile.
“It’s just, he said I had an abundance of freckles.”
Miles chuckled at her look of despair. “Let me see.” He tipped her chin up and pretended to study her. “Not so many.” Leaning down he kissed her nose. “And anyway, I like freckles.”
Carrie sighed.
“No more of this,” Miles said. “We promised to forgive Wilder, and let it lie.”
Carrie agreed, but privately thought that it would be easier to forgive Lyle if she first got a crack at him like Miles or at least Esther.
The wagon rolled into the clearing, and both Donovans forgot all about forgiveness as they saw the gate to the horses open.
“Someone let them out,” Carrie cried, and grabbed the reins as Miles leapt down. He whistled, calling for the horses.
Even the cow had been let out, and was wandering through the garden, the chickens not far behind. The door to the homestead was open.
“Wilder,” Miles said, his face hard.
“Why would he do this? To cause trouble?”
But Miles had no answer. After a moment, Belle and her foal came trotting out of the field, and Carrie breathed a sigh of relief.
“They’re trained not to go far.” Miles ran to greet them. “I’ll go check the others, and the cattle,” he said as she helped him unhitch Monty, and then lead all the horses back to the pen. “Stay here; I’ll need to rustle the bull, if he’s out, and that could be dangerous.”
Carrie nodded and started for the cow. It took some coaxing with carrots, but she finally got Bessie out of the melon patch, and back in her shed. The chickens were another matter; Carrie kept a broom near their pen after Miles had showed her a trick. She advanced, swinging the broom, and all the chickens turned tail and ran, clucking, back into their pen where she locked them up safe.
“That scoundrel,” she muttered as she made her way up to the cabin to see what damage Lyle would have done.
The cabin seemed to be in good order, and she’d just breathed a sigh of relief when a creaking step sounded on the porch.
“Carrie,” said a familiar voice.
She turned in horror, blanching as she recognized the blond man. “William, what are you doing here?”
“I came for you, Carrie.” Her former beau looked lean and dirty, his features still comely, but bland. She wondered how she’d ever found him good looking. “I told you I’d come.”
There was a wild light in his eyes she’d never seen before, and she found herself backing
away. “How did you get here?”
“Shopkeeper told me how to find you.” He smirked at her in the gloom. “You look good, as always. Just like I remember.”
“William, I’m married now. Why did you come?”
Anger seized his bland features. “You cannot marry. Who would have you?”
“Stay back, William,” she said, now almost to the pantry. Her hands fumbled behind her, reaching for a weapon.
“It’s all right, Carrie. I’m here now. We’re meant to be together.” He took another step forward. “I let out all the cattle and drove them down the hill. Some of them will die. Your man will be busy a while. Time enough for us to escape.”
“I don’t want to go with you. I don’t want to escape.”
William surged forward and seized her by the wrist, pulling her towards the door. She fought and he dug his fingers into her arm until she cried out.
“Wait,” she said, sagging down to slow him. “I’ll go with you, I promise. Let me get my bible.”
When he released her, she stumbled towards the bed, falling to her knees and grabbing the shotgun. Before he could rush her, she leveled it and pulled the trigger.
The blast deafened them both, but Carrie felt a hand beat at her face, and she dropped the weapon. William dragged her to her feet.
“I told you, we belong together,” he growled, before forcing her out the door and down the hill. At the foot stood an ill-fed horse, and William bundled her up before swinging behind her.
Carrie hung on as the horse went into a wild gallop, praying that Miles had heard the shotgun blast.
“You see, Carrie,” William’s hot breath hit her ear, and she grimaced at the stench, “we belong together.”
“Never,” she said.
“Even the church elders said so.” He gripped her hair, yanking her head back.
“They were wrong,” she cried. “You took something from me that night. But my husband gave it back. I deserve to be loved.”
“No one will ever love you like I do.”
“You’re wrong, William. There’s a man out there, and he loves me. And he will come for me.”
