by Lee Savino
Esther brightened. “All right. And I’ll go inspect the layout again, to plan on how to arrange the patients’ rooms.”
She started to bounce forward, and Johnathan caught her arm. “You can explore, but be careful. You don’t know what part of the frame is secure or not.”
Nodding, Esther watched her husband trek back towards their house. For a few minutes she walked the perimeter of the new building, examining each room and imagining what it would be when it was more than a few beams, nails, air and sawdust.
Esther saw Mr. Martin, the town shopkeeper, scurrying up the road past the build, and she had an idea. Biting her lip against her laugh, she stepped onto a pile of lumber and used it to boost her onto a beam a few feet off the ground. After a shaky few seconds, she got her balance and stood, straightening her skirts in triumph. A childhood of climbing up trees made balancing no problem, and she called to the shopkeeper.
“Mr. Martin!”
The man started looking to and fro like a squirrel unsure whether to run. Esther almost did laugh then. Standing straighter, she waved to the man.
“Mr. Martin! Up here. I’m—”
A bolt slipped, and the board cracked under her weight, hurling her to the ground. Only a few feet from the ground, she landed on her feet, but the momentum carried her forward and she stumbled into the pile of lumber, which toppled over with a resounding clatter.
“Mrs. Shepherd,” Mr. Martin cried, puffing forward. Lyle and Johnathan beat him to the build, the former checking the beam and the latter throwing himself to his knees beside his wife.
“Esther, what in the world? Are you all right?”
“Just fine,” she said weakly from her position sprawled on the ground. Her legs were folded under her, but when she started to move, Johnathan’s strong hands held her in place.
“Wait, my dear. Let me check for injury.”
“Injury?” Mr. Martin arrived at the Shepherds’ side, breathing hard with sweat trickling from his balding head.
“Yes,” Johnathan said, preoccupied with drawing Esther’s legs out carefully from under her skirts. “I just want to check for any breaks, or blood.”
“Blood?” Mr. Martin squealed, and then fainted dead away. Lyle came to the shopkeeper’s side too late to keep him from slamming into the sawdust.
“Can you see to him?” Johnathan said, barely sparing the downed Mr. Martin a glance.
Miles arrived at the build and stared askance at the scene. Johnathan helping Esther and a bemused Lyle squatting next to the unconscious Mr. Martin. “What happened?” he asked.
“The cross beam wasn’t secure,” Lyle explained. “Esther climbed up to flag Mr. Martin and it came down, and her with it.”
“And him?” Miles gestured to Mr. Martin.
“Fainted when I mentioned there might be blood,” Johnathan said. “He has a weak constitution. Prop him up and splash some water on his face, and he’ll be fine.” His hands worked up and down his wife’s legs.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him, cheeks red with embarrassment.
“Does this hurt?” Johnathan worked one leg, then the other, acknowledging the shake of her head, but continuing to examine her until he was satisfied.
“Nothing broken,” he pronounced and gripped his wife’s arm when she would rise. “Careful.”
“All right, Mrs. Shepherd,” Miles said. “Thank you for inspecting our work, but I think you and the ladies would be better off safe inside the house.”
“Gentlemen, I apologize,” Esther said, but didn’t meet anyone’s eye.
“No harm done,” Lyle said with a grin. “Just a loose beam. And well, him.” He waved a hand at the shopkeeper, who was beginning to rouse.
“Let me help you.” Johnathan drew his wife up.
“I’m fine,” Esther said, and walked a few steps to prove it.
At the entrance to the build, Rose came to Esther’s side. “Lean on me,” the redhead said, and the two women walked off together.
Johnathan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
Lyle chuckled. “Don’t be too hard on her. Rose loves seeing a minister’s wife with that much spirit. And, compared to my wife’s antics, Esther’s are quite tame.”
“I won’t be too hard on her. But she’s due a good punishment.”
“Carrie wouldn’t sit easy for a week,” Miles muttered. The three men started for the downed beam, working together to set it to right.
As they worked, Johnathan kept thinking how Esther’s fall could’ve been so much worse. It wasn’t the first time she’d acted wild. Her energy was part of what he loved about his wife, but lately she seemed all too willing to go further and further for a lark—even if it risked her life. On a visit to a mining camp, for example, she ventured into a side cave after a prospector teased her that it was unsafe, and had upset a family of bats. Her shrieking had upset the whole camp. Another trip, she’d drunk half a bottle of some awful moonshine—again on the dare of some jokester trying to gain the attention of the pretty blonde—and ended up sicker than the patients he’d ridden to see. Then today, balancing on a beam for some silly trick. Johnathan knew when he married her that she loved adventure and had a knack for getting into scrapes, but her escapades had taken on a desperate quality, as if she was trying to distract herself from her own life. Even discipline sessions accompanied by lectures on setting an example as a minister’s wife didn’t have any effect.
When Johnathan shared this with his friends, Lyle’s eyebrows went up and Miles rubbed the back of his neck.
“Get her with child,” Lyle advised. “She’ll be less reckless.”
Johnathan hesitated. “I don’t know if she’s shared this with any of the women, but Esther may be barren. She had an unnatural birth on the trail, and a harsh miscarriage. The bleeding may have harmed her body.” He took a deep breath before he could say what he almost couldn’t bear to admit. “She may never have a child.”
Miles put his hand on the tall minister’s arm. “Have faith. It’ll see you through.”
* * *
“Esther!” Johnathan called as soon as he entered the house. The men and woman had all gone, headed home before sunset. Johnathan had waited outside, finishing up the day by chopping some firewood, and giving his wife a good long chance to anticipate his homecoming.
Sure enough, she met him in the parlor. “Yes, husband?”
Towering almost a foot over her, he had to school his face carefully to keep from softening his expression. Dressed in simple green muslin, her long blonde hair hanging down her back in a braid, his wife was truly lovely, and it was hard not to show the joy that leapt in his heart every time he saw her. “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting down on a chaise.
Hands folded in front of her, head bowed, she looked the picture of contrition. “I’m fine, Johnathan.”
He patted the seat next to him. “Sit down, let me see your ankle.”
She sat, and he lifted her feet into his lap to check.
“They’re not even hurting,” she protested.
With a final pat, he let her swing her feet back down. “You’re fortunate. It doesn’t look swollen. But we’ll keep an eye on it.”
She knelt before him, helping him with his boots. She kept silent, but her lips pouted a little, and Johnathan knew she was waiting for the lecture and the punishment.
“Dearest, what am I going to do with you?”
“I was only having some fun.” She set his boots aside, but remained on the floor at his feet.
“I know you were. But what did I tell you would happen the next time you put your life in danger climbing up something?”
She came to her feet then, submission falling from her. “I thought you meant no climbing trees!”
“You’re reckless.” He stood too and glowered down at her. “It’s my job to keep you in hand. You need to make better decisions. You’ll be receiving a caning this Sunday, along with your regular maintenance.” The cane made for a har
sh punishment, but Esther had a high tolerance for pain. Anything less wouldn’t teach her a lesson; indeed, she might even enjoy it.
Her mouth fell open to protest, but he raised a brow. “What do you say?”
Her jaw opened and shut once before she conceded. “Yes, sir.” Huffing a sigh, she started to turn away, but Johnathan caught her arm, a little surprised at her attitude.
“I’m not finished. You’re also writing lines tonight. One hundred.”
Esther’s pout returned full force. She hated sitting and writing more than the cane.
“Esther?” he reminded her sternly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” His hands went to her shoulders. “I know it’s harsh, but you need correction. I’m not going to let his behavior continue. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice softened.
He hugged her. “Let me make sure your ankle is better. We’ll address it on Sunday.”
* * *
Miles was dreaming. In his dream, his wife Carrie lay next to him, still big with child. She was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, and finally he sat up. Leaving the bed, he lit a lamp and then returned, a jar of fine oil in his hand.
Carrie woke as he drew back the covers.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
He hushed her, pushing up her nightgown so her body was bared to him. Pouring out a little oil, he took her foot in his hand and started to massage it.
“That feels good,” she sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Miles worked his way up her leg, his large, rough hands kneading her gently. When one leg was done, he started on the other. Looking at her bare body, her skin glazed and shining with oil, he felt himself harden. As his expert fingers moved higher up her leg, she shifted, suddenly awake.
“Feel better?” Miles knelt in between her open legs, gazing down at her rounded belly. Taking up her hand, he started rubbing her palm, even every finger.
“Yes, Miles,” she breathed. Her face was full of love, and he had to pause to reposition himself in his small clothes.
She smiled, missing nothing.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked as he finished her hands and started stroking her forearms.
“Because I want to.” His hands brushed the sides of her large breasts as they worked around her arms. After playing around the hem of her nightgown to massage as much as he could, he worked the garment over her head. Tossing the gossamer garment away, he caught his breath at the sight of her, naked and glowing before him. Her hair spread over the bed, her eyes were heavy lidded, mouth curved sensuously as she watched him.
“I need this,” he admitted. “You are so beautiful, I have to touch you.”
“Touch me, Miles.” She smiled and spread her arms, offering herself to him. He didn’t hesitate. His hands went to her breasts, lifting them carefully, palming their weight, and stroking the sensitive skin with the lightest of touches.
She sighed, and he could bear it no longer. Leaning over her, arms on either side of her body, he bent his head and touched his lips to her chest, right at her collarbone. Slowly he made his way down, tonguing the curves at the valley between her breasts, and kissing further until his tongue swirled in her belly button.
“Mmmmm.” Her body arched beneath him, encouraging him as his mouth traveled lower down. Kneeling lower, he pushed her legs open wider and then slid his hands under her bottom, lifting her until her center spread out like a feast before him. A few kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs and he was ready to touch his tongue to her lower lips. He licked and sucked at her folds until his wife’s body was squirming, even as her hands fisted in his thick hair, holding him captive between her thighs. His lips danced over her center, tasting her juices as if it was the sweetest nectar, and he would never get enough. He could tell when Carrie’s whimpers turned and her whole body trembled on the tip of his tongue.
“Miles,” she moaned, her voice taut with need. “Please. I need you.”
Normally he liked his bride to beg, until she broke and lost control at his touch, but now, swollen to bursting in his pants, he couldn’t wait any longer. Adding two fingers, he used lips and tongue to tease her little pearl until her climax shook her, and her thighs clamped around his head.
Rising up over her, wiping at his wet mouth, he viewed his bride with satisfaction. Her body lay gleaming in the lamplight, limbs askew and chest rising and falling as she panted with pleasure. She’d never looked more beautiful.
Crawling to her side, he lay down and stoked away the little curl that stuck to the side of her face. His finger traced her soft lips before he kissed their sweetness. She turned to him fully, eyes closed and lips seeking his. He let her kiss him, trying to keep his own body from exploding. His cock cried out for attention. He almost didn’t notice when Carrie wriggled down his body, kissing his chest and following a trail similar to the one he took down her body.
Miles sucked in a breath as, in his dream, his wife put her hand on his trousers, over his cock.
“Carrie, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” In his dream, she smiled at him. Her little hand moved gently, starting to undo his buttons.
He shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to move. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It won’t hurt me.” She snuggled closer, and still lying on her side, slid his throbbing member into her hot mouth.
Miles started awake, rolled to look at his wife. Her face was calm and sweet with sleep. The cabin was still dark, but the night outside the window was tinged with grey and the coming dawn. Closing his eyes, he sighed. His cock was screaming for release, but the rest had been a dream. He waited until he dared, and then moved a little closer, replacing the blanket that had fallen off her shoulder. He was hard and throbbing, but he needed to let the new mother sleep. She worked so hard during the day, tying their daughter Mary to her body as she went about her chores and did what she could to help him on the homestead. Forcing himself to relax, Miles let his breathing grow steady. He had control; he could do this.
“Miles?” Carrie snuggled back into him, her bottom massaging his aching cock. He almost groaned, dropping his head into her hair. Almost of its own volition, his hand crept around to her breast, drawing a light circle on her swollen flesh.
“Mmmm.” She shifted again, and started to roll towards him. For one beautiful moment, Miles felt her weight in his arms, promising relief for his desire, when a wavering cry rose from in the corner.
“Oh, Mary,” Carrie sighed and sat up, pulling a blanket around her shoulders and hurrying to her daughter in a practiced, if tired, movement.
Meanwhile Miles pressed his face into the mattress, gritting his teeth. Their neighbors, the Wilders, had no children of their own; perhaps they would agree to watch Mary for a few hours that afternoon. Listening to his wife move around the cabin, he vowed he would talk to Lyle Wilder about it at his first opportunity. If he had to take much more of this, he’d be spilling himself like a school boy every night.
*
Come Sunday, the families all gathered together. The weather was nice enough that they had an outdoor service. After church, Esther played ball with the boys.
“Looks like your wife’s feet and legs are fine enough,” Lyle Wilder remarked.
“It seems so,” Johnathan said. “She’ll be ready for her caning later today.”
“The cane.” Lyle’s eyes widened, but Miles Donovan nodded his head in approval.
“It’s really not that harsh after a hand spanking,” Johnathan said. “She’s received it before.”
“Teach her good, minister,” Miles said. “I don’t want Carrie getting any ideas.”
Lyle snorted. “Your wife is as meek and mild as a newborn calf.”
“Aye, and I intended to keep it that way. Carrie has a stubborn streak and even a temper, as you well know.”
“Not like Rose. A day with Rose would bring most men to their knees. You sure you
want us to watch Mary for you later?” Lyle asked.
“Definitely,” Miles said with such fervor, that Johnathan grinned.
“Baby Mary keeping you awake?”
“Something like that.”
Lyle chuckled. “Oh, when we take Mary, I’ll bet it’s bed for him and Mrs. Donovan, but they won’t be sleeping.”
Laughing, the men parted, and Johnathan made his way to his house, greeting all the families who’d come out for Sunday. Their little town was growing as the mines at Royal Gorge grew, and people came from all around for a morning of fellowship. Esther worked in the kitchen the whole day before, making sure there was enough stew and biscuits for anyone who wanted a good meal before heading home.
The sun hung low in the sky by the time they waved goodbye to the last visitor. Johnathan tucked his arm around his wife, feeling satisfied at her warmth and softness pressed against his tall body. He held out his arm, and escorted her back to the house. Once they were inside, however, he turned her to him.
“Do you want your punishment before or after we clean up?”
His wife kept her gaze lowered. “Some of the wives helped me with the washing and took the rest of the stew. I still must sweep the floor, though.”
Eyeing the kitchen, Johnathan felt the place was already spotless, but he pulled his wife towards him and kissed her forehead. “Finish your chores, then come find me.”
A few minutes later, Esther approached him at his desk. “Everything’s done.” She’d removed her apron, and her hands wrung her dress nervously. “Biscuits and honey is all that’s left for dinner.”
“That’ll be fine,” Johnathan said. Standing, he took his wife’s hand and led her to the bedroom.
She went along, but he could feel a slight hesitation in her step. She’d never really fought him over her punishment; a childhood spent getting into trouble and enduring discipline left his wife very pliant and submissive to his guidance. Lately, however, he sensed her pulling away from him.
