by Measha Stone
“Elijah.” Papa’s voice stills me. Nicolette stops reading. When I stand up to face him, I firm my jaw. He can’t sense my fear. I have nothing to be afraid of. I’ve already finished all of yesterday’s chores, and I’m halfway through today’s. I’m doing everything he expects of me.
He eyes Nicolette for a moment before sweeping his gaze back to me. “I found this on the back porch.” He holds up his fist, my t-shirt scrunched between his fingers.
I’m not sure what to make of what he’s telling me. I didn’t leave my shirt outside. Is he testing me to see if I’ll argue with him? If I defend myself against an accusation, it could be worse than what happened last time. Plus, Nicolette’s in the room. I can’t let her see him angry with me over something I didn’t do. A man stands up for himself. But sometimes Papa doesn’t mean against him. What’s the right answer here?
“Papa?” Nicolette interrupts quietly from the couch. “I…I’m sorry. I think I may have dropped it when I was bringing in the clothes from the line last night.”
She closes the book and folds her hands on top of it, waiting.
Papa’s eyes narrow on me. It’s my t-shirt. She’s been careless with her chores and dirtied my shirt. He’s going to expect me to take care of this.
I sigh, sending a disappointed glare in her direction. If I let this go, he’ll take over. She can’t be let off the hook for being reckless. It’s disrespectful for her not to take care of my things. I’m one of the men of the house. She’s to be my wife soon. She needs to learn how to be more careful.
But the idea of hurting her makes my stomach sour. When she cries, it makes my insides twist.
“It’s not my shirt," Papa says, his eyes burning through my skin.
“I’m sorry, Elijah.” She moves the book to the coffee table and stands. Splaying her hands against her sides, she brings her pitiful gaze to meet mine. “I should have been more careful when I brought the clothes in last night.”
“Taking care of the laundry is your job, Nicolette,” I say, my voice firm, just like Papa taught me. She can’t see how much it guts me that she’s disappointed Papa. She can’t think I’m soft, and if she knows how much I hate when he punishes her, she’ll think I’m weak. A wife needs a strong husband.
“I know. I’m really sorry.” She doesn’t plead for forgiveness. She knows there isn’t any for wicked deeds—not until she’s had her consequence. There’s a tinge of sadness to her words, though. She knows I love her; she wants to be a good wife. I know she will be when the time comes.
Papa stays silent, watching our exchange, his expression void of emotion. I can’t read him like this. What does he want me to do?
“You have to be more respectful of our things.” I continue when the silence threatens to strangle me.
“I will. I promise. I’ll wash the shirt again right now.” She steps closer to Papa, her hand reaching for it.
“Take it out by the shed, Nicolette. Elijah will be there in a minute.” Papa hands her the shirt, a dark edge to his tone.
She lowers her gaze, tears building in her eyes. She’s afraid of the shed. I don’t blame her. It’s not an easy place to be.
Silently, she takes the shirt and shuffles out of the living room and through the kitchen. As soon as we hear the porch door shut, Papa turns to me, his gaze heated.
“I know you hate to do it,” he says, sounding empathetic. “My daddy hated it too. It was hard at first, putting mama in her place. She’d been ruling the house for so long, he’d been beaten down into a blubbering pup most of the time.”
Papa’s told me this so many times, I don’t need to pay attention. But I still do, because it would be disrespectful otherwise.
“When my grandpa died, my daddy got to meet his half-brother, Uncle Luke.” His lips crack into a wide smile. “He’s a good man. Strong. Daddy offered to let him stay with us for a bit while they sorted out Grandpa’s estate. Uncle Luke saw the chaos, how Mama mistreated Daddy, the way she didn’t take good care of me and Madeline, your mama.”
He says this like I don’t know who my mama was. I remember her, everything about her. The softness of her touch. The sweetness of her smile. The way she tried so hard to keep Papa happy until she gave up on us. I don’t like thinking about that, so I tune back into Papa’s lecture.
“Uncle Luke showed my daddy how to make our home peaceful, how to make us show our love instead of our anger.” He shakes his head sadly. “Luke Greene is a good man. He saved my family.”
“Nicolette shouldn’t have let my shirt stay out on the porch all night,” I say. “I’ll talk to her.”
Papa nods, his lips screwed into a frown. “She’ll be a better woman for it.” He cups my shoulder.
“Yes, Papa.”
“And a good husband teaches his wife to be a good woman. He teaches her how to behave, how to treat his things, how to be respectful.”
“I’ll be sure she learns,” I assure him.
He looks down at my waist, making sure my belt is on. “I know you will, son.”
I put the trowel I was using for the fireplace down and head out of the living room. He doesn’t follow me, leaving the talk with Nicolette for me to deal with. My chest unclenches enough for me to breathe easier. He won’t be watching over the talk.
That will help.
As soon as I step onto the back porch, I can see the outline of Nicolette at the shed. She’s pacing, her arms wrapped around her middle. My shirt dangles at her side, pinched between her fingers.
“She’s nervous.” Mark’s voice catches me off guard, and I pause.
“It’s hard for her,” I add.
“What’s so hard? Do your chores, follow the rules. It’s not hard, even her girl brain should be able to understand it.” Mark drops his toolbox at my feet.
“Nicolette is smarter than you give her credit for,” I argue. Mark and Papa don’t see the beauty in women—how soft and gorgeous they can be, how brilliantly wonderful they are.
“She’s smart,” Mark agrees, folding his arms over his broad chest. He has Papa’s build, muscular and athletic. “But she can’t start thinking she’s smarter than us. We have to be careful, Elijah. We can’t fall too deep for her. There are going to be times when we need to discipline her harshly, and if you fall for her wicked smile, you’ll have a hard time with it.”
“I know,” I answer firmly. He talks to me like I’m much younger than him. He’s only a year older, and barely even that.
Mark’s gaze moves into the distance, where Mama and Grandma live now.
“We have to protect her from herself, Elijah. I don’t want to send her off back there.” He juts his chin toward the graves at the far corner of the property, where the tree line meets the homestead.
I was only thirteen when Mama went to live beside Grandma. I didn’t understand much at the time, but I do now. Papa made sure we understood. He had no choice. Mama had given up on making our family peaceful and loving. She listened to her wicked heart too much. She betrayed us. She tried to leave.
“Nicolette will never do that,” I say, deepening my voice. She won’t. Nicolette loves us and does her best to make us all happy.
“She’s a woman,” he says, like my confidence in her is the most absurd thing he’s heard. “She can and will betray us if we don’t keep a firm grip on her. It’s not her fault she’s not capable of having strong morals like us. You heard Papa’s lessons. She’s weak—it’s our job to protect her.” He turns his attention back to Nicolette, still pacing. “Don’t go too easy on her.”
I set my jaw firm and take a breath before I respond. Getting into an argument with him will only work to divide us, and he’s right—we need to be unified in how we deal with Nicolette. She’s to be our wife, and as such, we both need to teach and lead her. Together.
“I’ll handle her,” I assure him. “Afterward, I’ll help you with the chicken coop.”
He picks his toolbox back up and gives me a satisfied nod. I wait until he walks of
f toward the coop before I make my way to Nicolette, my footsteps hurried and my breath catching in my throat. I can’t be soft on her with Mark so close.
“Nicolette,” I call out when I’m close enough.
“I’m so sorry, Elijah. I’m sorry” She rushes over to me, her hands twisting her dress.
I gesture with for her to calm down. “It’s all right. I know it was an accident.” I shift my weight to my right foot. “But you have to be careful. What if that had been Papa’s shirt?” Her face blanches. “Give me the shirt.” I put my hand out for it, and she drapes it over my open palm.
“I’m trying, Elijah. I want to be good for all of you. I’m trying,” she says with a bit of frustration. She’s always been more open with me, and I cherish the little moments when we can be candid.
“I know,” I say, because she is. Give credit when it’s due. It’s another of Papa’s rules, but I’m a bit more liberal with it than he is.
Tears shine in her eyes. “I don’t want the shed, Elijah. Please, not the shed.”
I shouldn’t allow her to beg me like this. It’s against Papa’s rules. She’s earned a lesson, and if that means she spends time in the shed, she’s supposed to accept the lesson with gratitude, not complaint.
“You dropped my shirt, Nicolette.” I try to smile. “You didn’t ruin it. Not shed worthy,” I assure her. “But you still need to learn more respect.” I hang the shirt on a nail sticking out of the frame of the shed. “Go on and take off your dress.”
With the threat of the shed gone, she moves into action without hesitation. She unties the bow at her neck and works the buttons down the front of her dress until she’s able to shimmy the cotton material over her hips. I motion to the empty nail next to my shirt, and she hangs her dress on it.
When she turns back to me, I have to swallow a moan of pleasure. Her nipples have pebbled thanks to the chill in the air, or maybe excitement it’s me dealing with her. She’s softer toward me than Mark. It’s because she loves me a little more than him. That’s against Papa’s rules too. No favorites. But I don’t comment on it. Truth be told, I love her more than them too.
“Come on.” I motion for her to come closer. She knows what comes next.
She steps through the dirt until she’s directly in front of me. With a tremor in her hands, she unbuckles my belt and works the worn leather through the loops of my jeans until it’s completely free. Laying it over her hands, she offers it to me.
“I’m truly sorry for being so disrespectful to your things, Elijah. Will you please teach me to be a better woman for you?” she says, repeating the words Papa has taught her since she was old enough for him to begin treating her like a woman. As a girl, he took her over his knee plenty of times for a spanking, but women don’t get spankings—women need more in order to learn.
I take my belt from her. “Grab hold of the hook, Nicolette.” I point toward the thick metal hook Papa installed in the side of the shed.
Her delicate throat works as she swallows back another plea for me to go easy. She’s smart. She knows I can only give her so much room before I have to pull her back.
Reaching over her head, she wraps her hands around the hook and lowers her chin. I have a blank canvas in front of me. She’s been so good lately, there aren’t any new marks on her. Only faint white marks on her shoulders and ass. Fuck, I love her ass. It’s so round, so plump and ready for me. I imagine spreading her ass cheeks and plunging into her tightness, but Papa says we can’t do that until she’s carrying our baby. There will be no wasting our seed.
I unfold the belt, fist the buckle in my palm, and stand to her left. Hammering from the chicken coop meets my ears, and I check to make sure Mark is out of visual range. Not seeing him, I bring my gaze back to Nicolette, noticing Papa’s dark figure on the porch.
My stomach tightens. There won’t be any mercy today.
I mouth my apology to Nicolette even though she can’t see me and bring the full length of the belt across her ass cheeks. She screams from the force and curves her body inward.
“Straight up,” I demand with gritted teeth. Papa’s watching, but I can’t tell her that. She can’t behave differently for him than me or Mark.
She flattens her feet again, and I whip the belt over her thighs. She cries out, but it’s lost in the sound of the leather strapping across her again and again. I’m not taking my time. Dragging this out will be worse for us both.
Over and over again, I whip her ass and thighs. She cries out in sobs, but she doesn’t beg. So good for me. I lighten up on the last few strokes, but it doesn’t matter. Angry red welts have risen on her ass. She’s going to bear these marks for a few days.
“Almost done,” I assure her when she stumbles forward. “Get back in place.” I soften my tone.
“Sorry,” she whispers, like she knows Papa’s watching and Mark’s listening. The hammering has stopped.
She’s only getting two more licks, so I have to make them count. Pulling back, I clench my jaw and unleash the hardest blow across both ass cheeks. The belt wraps around her hip, and her back bows as her scream travels away with the breeze.
Readjusting my grip and planting my foot in the dirt, I let out a long breath. The last was is always the worst. It’s the one she’ll remember the most, so I can’t go soft.
The leather crashes against her thighs, sending her to her tiptoes. A heart wrenching sob breaks free from her chest. Her head hangs between her arms, her tears dotting the dry dirt at her feet.
I leave her to get her crying under control while I slip my belt back into my pants. The jingle of the buckle makes her muscles tighten in her back. Her ass and thighs are bright red, and the welts have swelled more.
“Down, Nicolette,” I command, standing behind her, my hands hanging at my sides. She drops her hands from the hook, dashing the tears from her face before she turns to me, her cheeks soaked and red.
She drags the back of her hand across her eyes again, then brings her gaze to mine. Her eyes are pink, her lips puffy and trembling, but she’s not sobbing anymore.
“Clean my shirt and hang it. Once it’s dry and put away, you can come back here and get your dress. But you won’t wear anything until this is fixed.” I condemn her to a day of nudity. In some ways, it’s worse than the shed, but at least she won’t be alone.
Another tear rolls down her cheek and drips from her chin as she nods.
“Thank you, Elijah.” She fists her hands at her sides. She wants to rub her ass, but she won’t. It wouldn’t help anyway.
“You’re welcome, Nicolette. I love you, you know.” I brush her hair from her face. Several strands have gotten stuck in the puddle of tears.
“I love you too.” She smiles, and it’s genuine. As much as she’s hurting right now, she knows the love I have for her. She doesn’t hurt on the inside, and that’s what’s important.
“Make sure you let Papa know you love him too. Don’t let him think you’re mad at him for bringing your sin to me.” My smile slips a little, but I give her a wink so she doesn’t think it’s because of her.
We aren’t supposed to harbor any jealousy when Nicolette shows her love for someone else, but it’s not always easy to push it down.
“I will.” I can see more thoughts building in her mind. Before I send her to Papa and get to work with Mark, I want to make sure she’s clearheaded.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask, tapping her temple.
She bites down on her lower lip and starts wringing her hands.
“Nicolette. Tell me.” I harden my voice just enough to get her to cooperate. I can sense Papa’s still watching us. It would be a really bad time for her to misbehave again.
“I love Papa and you and Mark, and I know what we do…how we show it to each other, is normal and right…” She lets the sentence fade, as though she’s not certain she can voice this concern she’s cradling.
“Go on,” I urge, tucking my hands into my front pockets.
I step forward and press my finger to her mouth. If her voice carries and Papa hears this, she’s going to have more than just a whipping in her future.
“All we need is each other,” I say simply. “Are you thinking you need more?” I ask, fearful of her answer.
She blinks, then shakes her head hard. “No. No, Elijah. That’s not what I meant. I was just curious. Like Uncle Luke, he taught Grandpa and Grandpa…taught Papa. But…well, what do other families do if they don’t have an Uncle Luke to teach them?”
My shoulders relax. She’s worried there are other girls who aren’t being loved the right way by their daddies and their brothers.
“I’m sure they have their ways. Some good and some bad. And I’m sure there are more Uncle Luke’s out there. We’re lucky.” And we are. If he hadn’t helped our grandpa and grandma get their family in order, we wouldn’t be living on our little homestead in the mountains. We wouldn’t know such love.
She nods slowly, then drags her gaze over my shoulder.
“We are,” she says, but there’s a soft undercurrent of doubt. “I better get to Papa before he starts to worry I’ve forgotten about him.” She smiles and waits for me to nod my permission before she walks toward Papa on the porch.
Once she gets to the porch, he says something to her that makes her turn away from him and bend over at the waist. He tilts his head one way, then the other, inspecting my work. After he touches her ass with the toe of his boot, she stands straight. Papa jerks his head toward the door, and she patters up the steps into the house. He finds me watching him and gives me an approving wave.
I wave back and head toward the chicken coop. I need to clean up my tools in the living room, but he’s gone back into the house. Nicolette will be loving him for a while. I’ll clean up when they’re done.
