by Measha Stone
“Boys, we need to work on the fence at the front of the property. The posts fell during the windstorm last night.” Papa leans back in his chair, rubbing his belly. It’s rounder than it used to be, but he’s getting up there in years, so it’s to be expected.
I stare at my empty plate as my own stomach grumbles. We’re down to a quarter pound of bacon, and the chickens only gave us three eggs yesterday. Papa wanted them scrambled for his breakfast. Mark and Elijah were given the bacon because men need more protein than women. They do harder work around the house, so the heel of the last loaf of bread was enough for me. At least there was enough butter left to smother on the stale bread.
“I’ll get the post digger out. We might need to move the hole,” Mark pipes up.
“Go on. Elijah and I will meet you out front,” Papa says. He’s well fed and happy this morning.
“Nicolette,” Elijah says from beside me. I’ve been quiet. My backside still hurts, and the hardwood chair pressing against the welts only makes it worse. I don’t complain, though. It’s my own fault for rushing with my chores the other night.
I bring my eyes up to his.
“You need to get some exercise today,” he says with his firm voice. The one he uses when Papa and Mark are listening. “Why don’t you take a walk out to the back and bring some flowers to Mama and Grandma.”
Even though they weren’t good women and needed to be put down, they still deserve our respect. Without them, we wouldn’t be here.
“That’s a good idea. It’s good for you to learn the lessons they didn’t. Tending to them will help you remember what happens to wicked women,” Papa says approvingly. “We still love them because they are family, but we need to learn the lessons they didn’t.”
“Yes, Papa.” I force a smile onto my lips. I was eleven when Papa took Mama to the far corner of the property to put her down. “I’ll need the rake so I can clear away the dead leaves, if that’s okay with you.”
He thinks for a second, then nods. “We’ll need it out front first, but then we’ll bring it out to you. Do your inside chores first, then go on out there.” He reaches over the table and pats my hand. “Now, give us kisses so we can get to work.”
I scoot out from the table. Sending my men off to work with love is the way I show them I appreciate all the work they do for me.
Starting with Mark, I stand by his chair and wait for him to stand up. His hands frame my face, and he tilts my head back before his lips press against mine. His lips vibrate with his soft moan. When he breaks the kiss, he smiles down at me.
“I love you, Nicolette.” He kisses the tip of my nose and releases me.
“I love you too.” I match his grin. Mark can be playful, and today he’s relaxed. It’s easy to be around him when he’s at ease.
Mark turns me to face Elijah, who’s already up and waiting his turn. He brushes the dark hair from my eyes and kisses me warmly. It’s a long kiss, filled with tenderness. When he pulls back, he winks. Elijah’s good to me. The best, really.
“Be a good woman today, Nicolette.” He reaches behind me and pinches my backside through my thin dress. I wince, but don’t comment on the pain. It’s a reminder of what awaits me if I mess up again.
“I will. Thank you for the reminder.” I kiss his chin, and he chuckles.
“Go on, boys.” Papa gets up from his chair, and the boys file out of the kitchen.
Papa comes to me, his lips already wet and parted. Grabbing my face with one hand, he crushes my mouth beneath his demanding kiss. His tongue lashes against mine, and his fingers dig into my cheeks. It’s hard not to pull away, but I hold steady, accepting the love he gives me. My insides churn, but I don’t fight him.
He lets me go and licks his lips again. “Almost as sweet as your mama,” he teases. “I’ll make a run to the store tomorrow. Make me a list.” He pats my cheek.
“I will. Thank you, Papa.” I swallow back the bile that rises every time the taste of him lingers on my tongue. “I love you. You do so much for us.”
His smile widens, and he gives me an appreciative nod. “It’s because I love you all. I’m glad you learned your lesson from yesterday. Is your ass still hurting?” he asks, his brow has furrowed.
“Only a little,” I assure him, though I’m not positive it’s the right answer.
“Okay then.” He runs his thumb over my lips. “I think I know what I want for dessert tonight.” He laughs. “But first, work!” He pats my cheek once more and leaves.
I stand in the kitchen, letting the quiet wash over me. There are three more bites of eggs left on his plate. My stomach screams at me.
It would be against the rules, so I grab Papa’s plate and scrape the food into the garbage before I can convince myself to rebel.
I’ve beaten the wicked notion this time. Pushing my hunger away from my thoughts, I get to work on cleaning the kitchen. A walk sounds good this morning, and I want to get outside before it gets too chilly.
Gripping two bundles of Aster I pulled from the small patch of garden Papa lets me keep for flowers, I make my way toward the far corner of the property. I don’t know how far our property actually goes, but I’m not allowed past the tree line. There are dangerous animals in the woods on this mountain. I’m safe on our property. Straying into the forest is against the rules.
I stop walking after a bit and look back at the house. They’re all still up front working on the broken posts. Smoke billows from the smoking shed off to the left of the house. Papa didn’t mention he got a kill when he went hunting the other day, but it’s not my business to question him. He’ll tell me when it’s ready.
I hope it’s venison. We haven’t had any in a long time. It would be a nice change from the pork we’ve been eating. But even that’s almost gone, so whatever is smoking is well received.
I continue walking toward Mama and Grandma, my breath playing with the air before me. Winter could roll in full-force soon. Papa might take the boys hunting next week, maybe I should ask him—not because I’ll be glad for the quiet or it’s my place to know what they’re doing. I only want to know so I can pack what they need, get it ready.
My shoulders slump. That’s the proper answer, but I’m lying to myself. I’d never be so stupid to say it out loud to any of the boys, even Elijah, but if they go off hunting, I’ll be left alone for at least a day. I’ll still have plenty of chores and work to keep me busy, but I won’t have to take care of them.
Mama’s place comes into view, and I make my way to her first. When I was little, she used to read to me as I fell asleep. I was nearing eleven when the reading stopped. Instead, she’d come into my room, lock my door, climb into my bed, snuggle me to her chest, and cover my ears while rocking me. Sometimes, she’d hum; other times, she’d sing.
Papa would try to come in on occasion, and she’d beg him to go away. He’d get real angry, and she’d have to open the door. I tried not to be scared, but when I saw his eyes—black and full of rage—I couldn’t help but cry. He’d tell me to go to bed and grab Mama by her hair, dragging her out of my room. I wouldn’t see her for a few days after that. Papa made her stay in the shed to teach her lessons.
But she didn’t learn.
She broke Papa’s heart.
I place the first bundle of the purple flowers on the boulder Papa used to mark her grave. He painted her name on it. Next to her is another one with Grandma’s name. Hers isn’t painted; it’s etched.
Grandpa had chiseled her name into the stone after he had to put her down. Grandma never quite understood the rules. Even when she promised she’d try really hard to make the family happy, she started to rebel. Papa told us the wickedness inside her was too much for her to fight and Grandpa had to put her down. For her own sake—and the rest of the family.
I asked Papa once why Grandpa wasn’t with Grandma. All he said was Grandpa didn’t have to be put down. He passed away in his sleep one night in the middle of winter. I still don’t understand the difference.
A twig snaps off to the right, and I spin on my heel to seek out the source. I don’t have anything to protect myself. If a wild animal is coming, I’ll have to out-run it.
Behind a tree, there’s a flash of orange. It’s bright. I step toward it. Another snap, then the figure comes into full view.
It’s a man.
I freeze.
Seeing me, he stops short. He’s wearing a bright orange jacket with yellow stripes, holding a rifle in his left hand.
“Hey there,” he says, lifting his right hand. I stare at the rifle. Is he here to take our house? To kill us?
He follows my stare to his gun and quickly slings it over his shoulder.
“Hi.” He holds up both gloved hands. He must be so warm in all those clothes. A thick beard covers half his face. Papa tried to grow a beard once. When Mama teased him about patches, he shaved it off. She wasn’t allowed to sit at the dinner table for a week for her disrespect. He made her eat from a bowl on the ground at his feet. She learned to be nicer after that.
He takes more steps toward me, and I shuffle back, my heart kicking my ribs.
“Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He stops a few paces in front of me, out of the tree line and now on our property. I should run back to the house. I should scream for Papa. I can’t talk to this man.
He half laughs, like he’s forcing himself to calm down. “I didn’t think there’d be anyone out this way.” He glances at the graves, and his eyebrows rise. “You alone out here?” He stares behind me to the rest of our little homestead. The chickens are running around their coop, squawking, letting this man know what we have. He can’t see the pig pen from here, but he can see the house and the shed and the smoke house. He’ll want to take our meat.
“I really didn’t mean to scare you. I got off the damn path back there and got turned around.” He looks behind him. “Embarrassing as fuck with all my hunting experience.” He laughs again, but it’s more awkward. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have cursed.”
His gaze travels over me, taking me in. The dress I’m wearing today is a little small. I had to wash my other clothes, and they’re hanging on the line drying. The buttons over my breasts barely hold the fabric together, and the hem hits high on my thighs.
“No shoes?” he asks, confusion filling his words. “No jacket?” He looks back at the house, then the graves. “You live here?” He takes another step toward me, and I scramble back. Tripping over my own feet, I tumble to the ground.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” He rushes forward, his hand out like he’s going to grab me. I scramble back.
“No,” I croak out, stilling his advance. I look back at the house. Where are they with the rake? If they see him, they’ll hurt him. If they blame me for him being here, Papa will put me in the shed.
“Are you okay?” He tilts his head to the side. “What’s that?” he asks, nodding to where my dress has ridden up my thighs. The red welts still healing from Elijah’s lesson yesterday and bruises Papa left on my thighs when he gave me his forgiveness under his perusal.
He drops his shoulders and sighs. A big huff of his breath puffs away from him. He moves back several paces, and my heart calms to a run instead of a sprint. Carefully, I get to my feet.
“Who’s here with you?” he asks, using the same hard voice Papa uses when he expects an immediate answer, knowing no matter what I say it will displease him.
“My family,” I say quietly. If they hear me talking to him, they’ll think I’m looking to run away—and leaving is against the rules. I don’t want to be put down.
“They…the one’s who hurt you?” he demands, lowering his voice. He’s smart, taking the hint to stay quiet. But that bright orange coat will get us caught.
I wave him back. “You have to leave.”
His eyes narrow, probably picking up on the panic in my voice.
“Please, you have to go,” I urge, gesturing more wildly for him to back off. My stomach knots. He has to go.
“If they’re hurting you, I can help you,” he says, not budging.
I shake my head. It’s a promise that will get me killed. And why would he need to? Everything Papa teaches is the way it should be. We love each other and take care of each other. There’s no better place to be than right here.
“This is my home. You can’t be here,” I tell him, trying to mimic Papa’s hard tone. “Go.”
He looks back at the house. “Have you ever been off this mountain? There’s a whole town at the bottom. People who can help. People who won’t hurt you.” His words dangle in front of me, much like a carrot in front of a horse that won’t budge.
“No. Go.” I wave at him. He has to go! They’ll be bringing the rake any second.
He stares at me for a long time, and my stomach takes the opportunity to growl its protest at not having much for breakfast.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asks quietly, eyeing the yard behind me.
“Please,” I beg him. “You have to go.”
He lets the rifle slip from his shoulder, and I cover my mouth. He’s going to steal everything from us and it’s my fault. Papa will never forgive me. He’ll believe I betrayed them all. He’ll put me down.
“Okay, okay. I’m going.” He takes three steps back toward the tree line, and relief floods me. “I can bring you with me. Come with me.” He gestures with his chin for me to follow him.
I bite my lip. Would the people in town be better than my family? I shouldn’t even think such things! I’m a horrible woman.
“No.” I shoo him with my hands.
He shakes his head, like I’m a huge disappointment.
“Okay, sweetheart. Okay. I’ll go.” He looks over his shoulder, then walks backwards into the woods. Once he’s at least a hundred feet deep, he turns around and takes off. The orange fades behind the deep browns and pale greens, and I let out a long breath.
He’s gone.
No one saw him.
I’m safe.
I turn away from the graves and decide to go back to the house. Mark is walking toward me, the rake I need in hand. I whip my head toward the woods, scanning for orange. Nothing.
“Hey, Nicolette. Here’s the rake.” Mark jogs up to me, offering the tool. I take it from his grasp, holding it in both hands, willing them to stop shaking before he notices.
He studies me and frowns. “You can’t be walking around with your tits practically hanging out like that, Nicolette. It’s too damn tempting.” He cups my breast, his thumb flicking over my taut nipple. “Papa already said you’ll be in his bed tonight.” He grunts. “Elijah told me you taught him something Papa really likes. You’ll teach it to me tomorrow.”
My stomach flips.
“Of course, Mark. Papa is going to the store tomorrow, though,” I remind him.
He smiles. “Perfect. Something to keep you busy while he’s away.” He drops his hand from my breast and flicks the top button open. “Might as well show us what’s ours.” He pokes my nose and laughs. “Get back to work, good girl. I’ll call you in when it’s time to make lunch.”
“Thanks, Mark.”
“Back to work, lazy bones,” he teases, then takes off in a jog back to the house.
I check the forest line again. Still no sign of orange. I blow out a hard breath and get to work clearing the graves of all the dead leaves.
The idea of living in a real town with people all around forms in my mind, my imagination playing with the possibilities. I need to stop this, but while I’m raking, I let myself have a brief vacation.
Even if it’s never going to actually happen.
Or could it?
Nicolette’s quiet this afternoon. I peek into the bathroom. After our nap, she asked if she coul
d get washed up.
Steam billows out the top of the shower.
“Don’t spend all day in there,” I warn. I was already too generous letting her nap after I used that pretty mouth of hers. If she doesn’t have dinner ready when Papa gets home, we’ll both pay for her sins.
“I’m almost done,” she calls to me in a snappish tone.
I grab the shower curtain and yank it back, glaring at her through the shower. “What was that?” I give her one chance to fix her tone. I won’t have my wife talking back or giving me attitude. She better get rid of it fast.
She covers her breasts with her arms, her sopping hair flat against her face. She blinks at me.
“I was just saying I’ll be right out.”
“Watch that tone of yours.” I point a finger at her.
“I’m sorry.” She lowers her gaze. “I thought you were further away. I was making sure you could hear me.”
I stare at her for a long second. Excuses.
“Hurry your ass up and get dressed. Papa could be back soon. You have to get dinner started.”
“He has the groceries,” she says, offering more excuses.
“Figure something out.” I harden my voice. “If he comes home after spending all this time getting food for your ass, you damn well better show him you appreciate it by having a warm meal ready for him.” Her jobs aren’t fucking hard. No excuse for being lazy.
“Okay, Mark. I’ll be right down,” she assures me. Water trails down her face. With her hair matted to her face, her eyes look larger, more fearful when I don’t ease up on my scowl. She’s pretty like this. In her place.
I let go of the curtain and leave her to finish washing up. I don’t close the bathroom door.
“Have you seen Nicolette?” Elijah meets me in the living room downstairs.
“She’s in the shower.” I jerk my finger over my shoulder. “Why?”
His brow furrows. “In the middle of the day?”
“Yeah. I gave her permission.” Papa makes sure we have everything we need, and we show our appreciation by not wasting any of it. We also keep our personal needs left to the end of the day or before we start chores. Taking time in the middle of the day to get cleaned up is selfish.
