by Measha Stone
“What’d she do to get such a gift from you?” he asks me. Elijah thinks he can hide his jealousy from me, but it’s written all over his fucking face. He hates it when I touch her, when she screams with pleasure from my cock. But he has to get over it. We love each other equally, and Nicolette is to be our wife. She can’t show favorites, and he can’t try to claim her more than me.
“She showed me that little trick you told me about. With her tongue.” I smile at the memory. Fuck, that girl knows how to suck a cock. I almost blew my load within the first few strokes.
He schools his features.
“Did you finish the fireplace?” I walk to the stones and squat down to look at his work. Elijah’s a hard worker, and a skilled one. All the stones are firmly in place again. “Looks good.”
“Thanks.” Elijah looks up the stairs.
“If that girl isn’t down here in five minutes, she’s gonna get it,” I tell him, and he shoots me a dark look. It’s flitting. He tucks it away just as quickly, but I saw it. “You can’t coddle her, Elijah. She’ll turn into a lazy, mouthy woman. We have to do right by her.”
He jams his hands into his pockets. We’ve had this conversation before. Too many times.
“I belted her the other day. I know what our job is,” he reminds me. I thought he was going to go easy on her because Papa hadn’t gone with him to the shed, but he didn’t. He laid into her real good. It’s what a good man does: teaches and leads the woman.
“I know you have this little fantasy that Nicolette will always be sweet and pliable, but you have to listen to Papa. She has wicked thoughts in her head. She’ll stray if we let her.”
“Nicolette would never leave home. Not without us,” he tells me firmly.
I shake my head. His love for her blinds him to reality. My love for her keeps me sharp. I want to be sure she’s good for us so we can be sweet to her.
Floorboards creak at the top of the stairs as she scurries from the bathroom to her bedroom to get dressed.
The front door swings open, and Papa walks in, one of his cloth bags hanging from his hand. He stops and stares at us for a moment.
“You gonna stand there and stare at me or get your asses out to the truck to get the other bags?” he snaps.
“Sorry, Papa,” we both say before hurrying toward the door.
He glances down the hallway. The sun’s already fading in the sky and there are no smells coming from the kitchen.
“Where’s Nicolette?” he asks me as I step around him.
“She’s getting dressed.” I roll my shoulders back. “I allowed her a quick shower. She’s going to start supper in a minute.”
He grunts. Going down the mountain to town is stressful. It puts him in a foul mood.
“She better hurry. I’m hungry,” he says, bringing his bag to the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t have kept her upstairs all afternoon,” Elijah hisses to me as we walk to the truck parked in front of the house. He’s not wrong. She’s my responsibility, and I let her nap. It was my decision to let her waste time in the shower when she should have been downstairs doing her chores.
“She’ll hurry. It’ll be fine.” I hoist three bags from the bed of the truck. We raise some of our meat on our little homestead, and Nicolette grows a lot of our vegetables in her small garden, but Papa hasn’t started the slaughtering yet, and the harvest has been pretty shitty this year. Nicolette has plenty of jarred veggies to get us through the winter, but Papa wants meat with every meal.
By the weight of the bags, it looks like he’s stocked us up for at least a month. There’re cans of fruit. Nicolette will be happy about that. She loves fruit. There’re several gallons of milk she can freeze. Papa won’t have to go down the mountain for a long time.
Nicolette is already in the kitchen when we bring the last bags in. She keeps her gaze from me, probably thinking I’m mad.
“Here you go.” I put the bag on the counter next to her and run my hand softly down her arm. She needs to know she’s not facing any consequences from me. As much as I love seeing the trace of fear in her eyes, I don’t like when she’s tense for no reason.
“Thanks.” She starts pulling the cans out of the bag.
“When’s dinner going to be ready?” Papa demands, coming in from the back porch, his rifle is in hand.
“If spaghetti is okay, twenty minutes,” she offers, holding up a jar of sauce and box of noodles.
He nods. “Fine. Boys, the pigs need feeding. Get to it. We’ll eat when you’re done,” he says, then stomps out of the house again.
“What’s he doing?” Elijah asks. Papa likes to take care of the pigs himself. If he’s having us doing the feeding, he’s off doing something else. What’s he need his gun for?
“Don’t know, but he’s not happy tonight. Both of you mind your mouths.” I don’t rule over Elijah like I do Nicolette, but he’s younger than me. He takes my warning to heart. Nicolette hurries to put the groceries away and get dinner started.
Elijah and I get our boots on and head out the pig pen, each with a bucket of slop.
“I didn’t see the books for Nicolette in the bags, did you?” Elijah asks as he fills the smaller trough for the little pigs.
“Books? Oh, for her birthday? No. I didn’t see them.” I hook my empty pail on a nail.
Elijah shakes his head.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs.
“No, not nothing—what?” I say harder.
He presses his hip against the fence and stares at me. “It’s her birthday and she asks for so little.”
I can agree with him on that. She’s learned not to ask for anything she doesn’t need. She can be lazy sometimes, but she’s not spoiled with material things.
“Maybe he forgot,” I say. “He’s got a lot on his mind, you know.”
“Like what?” Elijah says with a half-smile. “When will he let us start worrying about this place like him? She’s going to have our baby in her belly soon, then we’ll be the husbands.”
“Well, when that happens, we’ll figure it out. Papa will always be our Papa. He’s not going anywhere, Elijah. Even after we take her as our wife. She’ll always belong to him too.”
“We’ll have share with him too.” He nods, but I can see he doesn’t like it.
“She’ll always belong to all of us, but when we’re her husbands, we’ll be fully responsible for her—which means you have to open your eyes where she’s concerned.”
Elijah rolls his eyes and pushes off the fence. “My eyes are wide open. Maybe you should open your heart a little more to her,” he counters.
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I love her as much as I love you. But I’m responsible for her, and that means I can’t spoil her. We can’t spoil her,” I correct.
“I won’t. I was just hoping he’d get the books so she could read new stuff to us.” He swings the pail as he checks the troughs to be sure everyone got their dinner.
“A new book would be nice,” I agree. “When he’s in a better mood, we’ll ask,” I promise. “It’s our job to be sure she has what she needs too. It’ll be okay if we ask.”
He nods, hopefully satisfied enough not to push the subject until Papa’s happier.
When we get back in the kitchen, Nicolette is bent over the kitchen table while Papa whips her bare ass with a switch. I halt Elijah from taking a step further. We can’t stop him. She’s his to punish as much as ours. Though, once she’s our wife, he says he’ll leave all that to us.
“Wasted the whole day like a lazy bitch,” Papa seethes, lashing the leather across her legs. Beads of blood form on her calves and thighs. He’s not even aiming, lost to his anger.
Elijah pokes me. This is my fault.
My throat dries. She’s my responsibility.
“Papa.” I take a small step. Nicolette’s sobs crack through the air, but she’s not fighting him. “Papa, I had Nicolette with me all afternoon. It’s my fault. I had her show me something t
o surprise you and…it’s my fault.” I roll my shoulders back.
Papa stands straight, his hand staying splayed across her back, holding up her dress. Her ass is torn up from the switch. Angry red welts crisscross over her creamy skin, beads of blood forming where the lash broke through.
“Did you make sure her chores were done first?” he demands.
I swallow to wet my throat. “She said they were,” I answer. I’d been clear with her to make sure she was finished with her chores before she came up to my room.
“Well, she wasn’t. The sheets are still on the fucking line outside and the back porch never got swept this morning.” He brings the switch down again hard, and Nicolette screams from the fresh cut.
“I should have checked.” I square my shoulders.
Papa’s lips are thinned out and pinched together as he stares at me. She won’t be the only one with a sore ass tonight.
He yanks her up by the dress and shoves her toward Elijah. “Put her away,” he orders with a pointed finger. “Do it right, Elijah.”
Elijah grabs her shoulders, holding her away from him, but I can sense how much he wants to cradle her to him.
“I will, Papa.” He grabs her upper arm, dragging her toward the door. Her sniffling flicks at my raw nerves. I shouldn’t have trusted her to do what she said she would. I should have checked. This is on me.
“What have I told you about women, Mark?” Papa drops the switch to the table. The pot on the stove bubbles with water, and he reaches over to turn off.
“You can’t leave them on their own. If you give a direction, be sure it’s followed. She lied to you. Never trust the word of a woman. They’ll say sweet things to get what they want.”
“Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.”
He takes a deep breath, like the rage has finally passed through him.
“Where’s my surprise?” he asks, his hands on his hips.
I lick my lips. I know exactly what he needs right now, and it’s the only way to make this better.
I sink down to my knees in front of him and reach for his belt. I’ll have his forgiveness before I have my dinner.
“I swear, I swept it. I swept it,” Nicolette whimpers as I haul her across the yard to the shed. The sun’s hidden behind the trees, making the night air crisp.
“It doesn’t matter, Nicolette,” I say. It won’t comfort her, but there’s nothing that will make her next twenty-four hours comfortable. Hopefully, it’s just a day. If Mark can soothe Papa, it will help her.
“Please,” she whispers as I remove the padlock and yank the wooden door to the shed open. The smells immediately hits me through the pitch black. It’s the one building we aren’t allowed to clean. Years of piss and shit have stained the air in the enclosure.
“Nicolette, remove your dress.” I let her go and grab the small flashlight hanging outside the room, needing to see what I’m doing.
“Elijah.” The way she says my name crushes me. Like she wants me to save her. But we both know that can’t happen.
“Your dress.” I swing the flashlight to her face. The light shines against her wet cheeks, her eyes wide with pleas that have to go unanswered. Papa will think I’m weak if I don’t go through with his order. He’ll think she has me wrapped around her finger. “Now!” I bark out. Doesn’t she understand how bad things will get for us both?
She rushes into action, pulling her dress over her head. I take it from her and jam it on the hook outside the door.
“Let’s go.” I grab her arm and haul her inside.
There’s enough room for us to stand together with our arms touching. I point with the light to where she needs to be, and she shuffles across the dirt floor to the very place I was only a few shorts days before, a sob breaking free.
She’s quiet as she moves into the corner, her arms wrapped around her stomach. I locate the chain and follow it down to the end with the iron collar. It’s heavy in my hands, and I know from too much experience the weight of it around the neck.
I put the end of the travel flashlight into my mouth and use both my hands to snap the collar around her thin neck. She winces as the metal scrapes and the lock clicks in place. Another tear slips down her cheek.
“Hands,” I say around the flashlight, picking up the chain to her left. Each cuff fastens easily around her slender wrists. They used to slip off her, but Papa fixed them to adjust to her size.
When I have her settled, I step back and look her over, my back pressed against the opposite wall. It would only take lifting my arm a few inches to touch her. The chains will keep her in place. She can sit if she wants, but there isn’t enough room to lay down. Even if there was, the pressure from the collar pulling her back would be uncomfortable.
Being put away in the shed helps us focus on what we’ve done to disappoint Papa. We have to think hard about our behavior and how we’re going to make it better. How we can be the best children to him. Nicolette needs to think about how to be the best woman she can be. And being made to stay in one spot helps her.
“I’m sorry,” Nicolette whispers.
“Mark will calm him down.” I can’t tell her it’s okay. She has to earn her forgiveness from Papa, not me. “Hopefully Papa will be ready to hear your apology in the morning.” I don’t want to give her too much hope, but she needs to see the finish line. It helps in the dark cold of the shed.
“I have to pee,” she whimpers.
“Then go.” I didn’t think to grab a bucket for her. Even if I did, Papa would see it as spoiling her.
“Please.”
“Nicolette.” I say her name hard. She wants more from me than I can give. I want to. I want to take her out of the chains and bring her up to my room and wrap her in my blankets. I want to cuddle her until she’s sound asleep beside me. But she didn’t do her damn chores and now we’re both in this mess.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, a breath away from a full-on sob.
“Stop saying that.” I step into the doorway, making a point of leaning to the side so what little light is left outside shines on her.
She nods.
Her face screws up with concentration, and seconds later, piss runs down her legs, making a puddle at her feet. She should have said something before I locked her in place. She didn’t think. Papa said women can’t think too hard about things, that it’s too hard for them to plan for stuff. I should have asked her.
“Elijah—” I shut the door as my name leaves her lips. Another sob breaks free as I snap the padlock into place on the door.
I hang the flashlight back on the nail and head back to the house. It’s going to be cold tonight. I drag my hand through my hair and pull the screen door open to get inside. I’ve lost my appetite, but I can’t skip dinner if it’s offered.
Mark is sitting at the dinner table, his focus on the bowl of cereal in front of him. Papa looks up from his own bowl with a grin.
“She settled?”
“Yes, Papa,” I assure him. The kitchen’s a mess. The groceries aren’t put away yet, and the water for the pasta still sits in the pot.
“Good. Grab some cereal. With your sister put away, we’re on our own tonight.” He laughs, then shovels a big spoonful of Frosted Flakes into his mouth.
I sit next to Mark and fix my dinner. Mark eats silently.
“Mark, don’t pout, son. You did a good job.” Papa chuckles. “With some practice, you’ll get it perfect.”
Mark nods. “Yes, Papa.”
“Were either of you boys hanging out in the woods the past few days? Out by your mama?” Papa chews his cereal.
“No, Papa,” I answer directly. He’s in a lighter mood, but the tension still shows in his eyes. It’s a tight rope he’s teetering on.
“No, Papa. I went out that way to give Nicolette the rake the other day, but that’s it,” Mark answers.
He gives a curt nod. “Okay.”
Mark and I exchange a quick glance, but we keep quiet and eat our dinner. We’ll have to clean up th
e kitchen when we’re done and get settled for the night. With Nicolette put away, we’ll have to pick up her slack so Papa doesn’t go without.
“Finish up, boys.” Papa gets up from the table, leaving his bowl behind. “I’m hitting the shower.”
He walks out of the kitchen, leaving us to eat without him. It’s a rare night that he doesn’t end our meal with his own, but we don’t ask questions. We shovel the sugary cereal into our mouths before he decides to change his mind.
“I’ll do the dishes. You put the shit away.” Mark takes my bowl from me when we’re done.
“Deal.” I grab the first bag and unload the few cans of fruit and vegetables along with the bags of rice and cornmeal.
“Breakfast tomorrow?” Mark asks while he rinses a bowl.
“He didn’t get bacon. Is there any in the smokehouse?”
Mark shrugs. “I haven’t been in there, but I think he was smoking bear.”
“Then we have eggs and toast.” I pull a loaf of bread from the bag.
“It will have to do,” Mark agrees. He finishes the last dish, then grabs a towel to start drying them. “You settle her tight?” He asks the question casually, but I understand his real meaning: did I puss out and leave her with enough slack to get too comfortable on the ground?
“She’s tucked in,” I say, heat rising in my chest. If he hadn’t been so single-minded about learning how to suck Papa’s cock better, she wouldn’t be in that shed. He shouldn’t have taken so long with the lesson. Or allowed her to nap. Or let her grab a shower. He made all the wrong decisions, and now she’s alone and cold in the dark shed with her own piss puddled at her feet.
“I know it’s my fault.” He surprises me, putting a hand on my arm to keep me by him. “But she should have told me she didn’t finish her chores. That’s what I mean, Elijah. You have to watch her. She’s sneaky.”
My jaw tightens. I tug my arm away from his grip and grab the cloth bags to bring them to the front closet.
