The Widow Wagon: Second Chances

by Megan Michaels

“I appreciate it. I expect that the ol’ biddies in town have already decided that I’m no good for staying here not married anyhow. But we’ll deal with that when the time comes. Until then we’ll get to know each other and work on figuring each other out.”

  “I’m hoping to make you mine, Sophie. I think I’ve decided I like you already. But you need to know something. When Mary got sick last spring and then I had my time of mourning, I was pretty out of it afterward. I didn’t grow the normal amount of wheat. I’m not sure what’s going to happen with the land. I may end up losin’ it. I planted more than enough wheat this year to make up for last year, and I’m hoping it’s enough to save us. If the worst does happen, we’ll just move to Topeka and live with my ma and pa until we get our feet on the ground again. I’m sure I can find a job out there, and we’ll save until we can build a cabin and purchase some land.” He dropped his head staring at the food in his bowl. “I’m hoping this isn’t the case, but I reckon you need to know.”

  Sophie reached out and rubbed his arm. “It’ll be all right. I’ll help you whatever way I can. I’m not great in the fields, but I can push a plow or put seed in the ground.”

  She definitely was a sweet woman, and it was already plain that she had a good heart.

  “Nah. I don’t want no woman in the field. If we gotta, I’ll hire someone or get a neighbor to help. You’ll have enough to do in the house, trust me. I did surface cleaning but there’s more to do. And I like having a nice meal — that ain’t stew — for dinner.” He winked at her and laughed.

  “We’ll work on the ground,” Sophie encouraged him. “And the house, sun up to sun down if we have to. And we’ll pray.” Daniel took a deep breath reaching out to grab her hand giving it a gentle squeeze. “ This is the year of new beginnings. We’ll make this work, Daniel. And by the way, I think I like you too. I want this to work also.”

  Daniel continued holding his new wife’s hand while they finished their dinner in silence.

  * * *

  Three weeks later

  Sophie adjusted well enough. Faster than she expected, actually. He’d been right — the cleaning in the house required crawling under beds and washing curtains. Pulling things out of the pantry. Based on what she’d seen during her first few weeks with Daniel, Sophie concluded that his former wife must have been a meticulous cleaner — and Daniel’s organizational skills had managed to keep the house clean for a year without a woman.

  Sophie knew the day would soon come when her disorganization would clash with his fastidiousness. Daniel had no clean shirts and wanted to go to church on Sunday. He wanted Sophie to meet some of the women in town, and then they would have dinner with his family. She hated doing laundry, as evidenced by the growing pile of clothes in the kids’ room.

  Daniel called her into the living room that morning, as he pulled on his boots. “The laundry is to be done today and hung on the line, or we’re making a trip to the barn. Clear?”

  “I can’t get it all done today, Daniel. There’s too much.” She had wrung her hands, pleading for pity.

  “You shoulda thought of that a week ago. Now’s a bit late for regretting. I want it all washed and hung on the line. I’ll help you take it down and then you’ll be ironing for the rest of the week. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips in an angry pout.

  “Fix your face, little girl, or you’ll get a spankin’ before I leave.” He regarded her with a raised eyebrow for a moment before pulling her in for a kiss, whispering in her ear. “Behave today and do as you’re told.”

  She’d told him that she understood, but when he’d left she stood looking at that pile. It just seemed such an impossible task. She knew that if she diligently worked at it, she’d finish it all. But she never could focus like that for long.

  She started a fire and then dragged the wash tub to the fire filling it with water. She’d start out strong, as she always did, and then she’d find herself wandering to pick berries or playing with the dog. It was just how she did things.

  She’d successfully finished half the pile of laundry in the side yard and hung them up on the clothesline. But in the process she’d sweat through her dress, her wet hair matted to her scalp. Disgusted with her lack of progress, she decided to lie down and rest for a few minutes…

  The screech of a bird startled her awake. She was so hungry that her head swam, her stomach growling plaintively. She wandered back to the house, the afternoon breeze feeling cool against her sweat-soaked dress. Fixing herself a biscuit and some left over soup from dinner, she sat down at the table. She’d washed and hung at least half the laundry already. If she focused and worked fast, she’d have the rest up by the time Daniel came home. She could do that, right?

  Diving into her chores, intent on fulfilling her duty to obey her husband’s order, she all too soon found herself playing with the dog, and then catching butterflies. She never set out to purposely distract herself — it just seemed like in the middle of intense chores or tasks, she would find herself wandering into other things to take her mind off the tedium of the work. She’d been that way since she was a child, and it had landed her in hot water many a day, whether at home, school, or church.

  It was in the midst of struggling to hang up the white sheets billowing in the breeze that she heard Daniel’s voice.

  “To the barn. In the corner. Skirts up, bare bottom showing.”

  She spun around, her heart in her throat, watching his tall form marching toward her. “Wait! I’m almost done!”

  How had it already grown so late? He just had to see how close she had gotten to completing her chores. It had to be enough.

  “Nuh-uh. I told you to get it all done. You had more than enough time. You must have been dawdlin’ and playing.” He clenched his jaw. His long arm extended, finger pointing. “In the barn. Bare bottom. In the corner.”

  Sophie’s eyes filled with tears as she ran to the barn. She couldn’t believe he didn’t reward her for getting most of it done. Clive would have told her she’d been a “good girl” and helped her finish the last bit of laundry. She went to the “Spanking Spot” lifting her skirts and untying her pale pink pantaloons letting them fall to her feet. Bending over she scooped them up, draping them over the stall wall.

  Daniel didn’t even tell her she’d done a good job. She found herself wondering if they were compatible after all. It felt so different from her life with her former husband. Clive understood that she did things differently. She didn’t do it out of rebellion — she just couldn’t focus well. Her parents had understood that as well. She turned to see if he was coming to the barn. She lifted her skirts holding them tightly in front of her, exposing her bare bottom.

  She might have to reconsider the arrangement with her new husband. Could she really live this way for the rest of her life? Did she want someone who didn’t understand her little quirks? Clive had told her that he found her eccentricities adorable. She shifted from one foot to another wondering what was taking him so long.

  What if Daniel didn’t?

  The chair scraped on the barn floor, and she heard the rustle of clothing as he sat down behind her. His breathing was slow and even. The man seemed utterly calm!

  “I’ve done laundry in a day, so I know it can be done,” he said, his voice thicker than usual. “And honestly, I ain’t got the experience like you women got. So tell me what you’ve done today instead of laundry?”

  “May I turn around, please? I want to be able to see you.” Her hands trembled so badly, she had to clench them in the fabric of her skirts. She wanted to see his reaction to her words, to be able to guess what he might be thinking. He was still very new to her, and she didn’t yet have a good handle on his personality.

  Daniel paused longer than she thought necessary, but with a sigh, he relented. “Yes, you may lower your skirts and turn around.”

  She quickly dropped the skirts. Turning to him, she was unable to meet his gaze, instead, looking dow
n at the dusty floorboards, the weight of his heated regard heavy upon her.

  He pulled his chair forward, drawing uncomfortably close to her, leaving her even less space in the intimacy of the quiet stall. He looked up at her and again, he didn’t look angry just...determined. “So what did you do today, instead of laundry.”

  “Well, I did do laundry. I got so hot and sweaty, I decided to lie in the grass to cool off. I must’ve fallen asleep. And when I woke up, my tummy growled so loud I decided to get a biscuit and some soup.” She looked up from the floor, finally meeting his gaze.

  He tilted his head regarding her closely. He scowled, leaning forward and clasping his hands between his knees, his elbows resting on his thighs. “You took a nap? Is that what I heard you say?”

  “Yes… but I was sweaty and tired. I was terribly hot, and the grass felt so cool.”

  What is he confused about?

  “Why would you do such a thing?” He crossed his corded arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms bunching. “When you’re given a chore, you don’t take a damn nap! Naps are for babies. Grown men and women work until the chores are done.” His gaze grew hard and Sophie fought the urge to back up further into the corner. “I understand being hungry. But there’s no excuse for takin’ a nap.” He sat back staring at her with the muscle in his jaw twitching. “What else did you do?”

  “Well, I’m not sure exactly how it happened. But I ended up playing with Sam, and then later I went hunting for butterflies. You have some here I’ve never seen before, and I was trying to get one to light on my hand for a bit. I just wanted to hold it.”

  He sat staring, stone-faced, for what seemed an eternity, every second making her grow more worried. “My god, it’s like havin’ a four year old. Didn’t anyone tan your hide as a little girl for playing during your chores?”

  “No. Everyone knew that I just got... distracted. They knew I wasn’t being bad, I would just forget what I was supposed to be doing and I’d started playing.”

  “That’s a problem. Not for me — but it is for you. I have a solution for it though. In this house, you’re gonna get your tail tanned every single time you decide to play, instead of work. We don’t have time to play here, and it’s not something I’m gonna tolerate. As a grown woman, you should have been taught this years ago.”

  Sophie’s heart pounded in her chest and she wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. “Are you angry at me?”

  Daniel reached out and took her hand, his callused skin rough against her palms. “I ain’t angry. But I ain’t gonna tolerate it neither. You need to learn that chores come first, and then play. And a sore, red bottom teaches that lesson pretty quick.” He let go of her hands and lightly pushed her back a step. “Take off your skirts completely, pull down your stockings, and take your shoes off too.”

  Sophie blushed, her stomach clenching. He’d never seen her completely naked. Sure, he’d seen her bottom, but to see her bare cunny was quite a different thing.

  “I know you’re worried.” He squeezed her hand smiling. “Trust me when I tell you that your little pussy ain’t any different than any other bad girl’s pussy waiting for a spankin’. Pull your clothes off, because you don’t want me pulling them down for you. If I have to undress you myself, you’ll end up with two spankings instead of one.”

  Sophie undid her skirts, but didn’t taken them down immediately, fear making her fingers tremble. A little sob escaped her as she closed her eyes and let them fall. She covered her mound with her with her hands, lifting one hand away to quickly wipe away her tears.

  He pointed. “I want you to go over to the spanking wall and pick out either a hairbrush or a paddle for this punishment.”

  “Oh, no!” She didn’t fight him, but walked to the wall, staring at the spanking implements. She didn’t like the prospect of choosing any of them. They all looked so forbidding, and she knew from experience how much a hairbrush hurt. Clive had used her hairbrush on her more than once in their marriage. But when faced with the probability of being paddled, she’d choose a hairbrush over a paddle. With a shaky hand she pulled the polished wooden brush off the hook. Still covering her pussy with one hand, she walked timidly to him holding the brush out to his waiting hand.

  He took it, and she retreated back toward her stall corner, suddenly wanting as much distance from him as possible.

  “Oh no, Soph.” He patted his lap. “Over here, baby.”

  She stared at his lap, at the strong, muscular thighs. A man who worked in the fields. His hands looked the part too. They were the hands of a farmer. Large, thick fingers with wide nail beds, dirt filling the crevices and creases on his palms. He had calluses on the pads of his fingers, and the heels of his hands. Hands like that would hurt. They would know how to wield not only a plow or tools, but also a paddle or hairbrush. But she knew those hands to be gentle too. Those hands had softly stroked her arms and held her hands. Those hands had comforted her when wrapped around her shoulder, or guiding her by the small of her back.

  In her heart, she already knew him to be gentle. But he wouldn’t be gentle today. That wouldn’t drive home the point she knew he intended to make. But would he be rough? She didn’t fear he’d actually hurt her — but still it took trust to allow him to do this. She knew if she refused he’d stop and wouldn’t go any further. He seemed to be that kind of man. An honorable man.

  She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve. She’d trust him — and allow him to punish her for her lack of focus and not finishing her chores.

  “You okay, Sophie?” Daniel looked at her with raised eyebrows, concern in his gaze.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m ready.”

  “Good girl. Over my lap then.”

  She leaned over him, placing herself over his knees, wiggling until she got positioned comfortably. “Keep your hands on the rungs of the chair.” He laid the heavy brush on her lower back, his big, calloused hand slowly stroking her bottom. “When I give you a chore, you do it. No dawdlin’, no playing. There’s no playing with the dog and chasing butterflies. It may have been cute when you were four, but adults don’t act like that. Least ways not in my house! This lesson’s long overdue in my opinion.”

  He didn’t hesitate or waste any more of his words, and he took up the brush, tapping it against her bottom. As much as she tried, she couldn’t help but clench her bottom. He swatted her bottom so hard, her body jolted forward on his thighs.

  Holy hell!

  Clive had never hit her bottom that hard!

  When her hands flung out off the rungs, he warned her. “Eyes front and hands on the rungs.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, hugging her to his hip. “I’m thinking I’m gonna give you twenty swats and then we’ll have a talk.

  Before she could brace herself, a flurry of fast, hard swats rained down on her bottom. He hadn’t even laid down five strokes, before she was bending her legs at the knees, trying to cover her bottom with her frantically waving feet.

  “Feet down. I reckon I can add more if that’s what you’re looking for.” She immediately dropped her feet back on the floor. “Good girl.”

  He continued with his prescribed swats and when he’d finished, she exhaled and let herself breathe again. She didn’t usually cry during a punishment, but a few tears had slipped from her eyes, and she wiped them off her face. She laid quietly across his hard thighs, thinking, trying to get her breathing under control. He definitely spanked harder than Clive. It appeared that when Daniel felt a point needed to be made, he didn’t go in for half measures.

  “Do you think you’ll do your chores when you’re told now?” He patted her bottom lightly, continuing to caress it.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good girl. I kinda thought some incentive would work. I don’t have a problem with you playing with Sam or chasing butterflies. I kind of like the idea of you feeling happy enough to play. But this is a farm, and when things gotta be done, I need to know that you’re workin’ as hard as I am. Make sense?�
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  She may not have cried during most punishments, but she always seemed to cry during the lecture. She felt sorry for shirking her duties, and she definitely didn’t like him viewing her as someone who didn’t like to work hard. She’d always been a hard worker — easily distracted maybe, but a hard worker nonetheless. Since Clive had died, she’d had to sell things, clean, and do all the work of the house and farm herself. She didn’t plant fields or anything, but she’d still had to work at surviving for the past year on her own, getting by on sheer determination and resolve.

  “Yes, Sir, it makes sense. I’m a hard worker. I’ve always been a hard worker. I had to do everything by myself this past year. I wouldn’t have survived if I’d been lazy.”

  “I never said you were lazy, girl. I know you’ve been through a lot, and you definitely need to be proud of yourself for doing all these things by yourself. Again, I just need to know that when chores are given, that you’re doin’ them. Children get distracted and start playing. Adults have learned — usually through a whippin’ or two — that chores come first. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Stand up.” He helped her rise to her feet. “Bend over and grab your knees.”

  Sophie barely stifled a whimper. “What? Why?”

  “Because your punishment isn’t over yet. These last eight swats will be to the underside of your bottom and thighs. They’ll hurt like the dickens, and you’ll feel them tomorrow when you’re finishing your laundry.”

  Sophie hated this part of punishment. Clive did this too, but she’d hoped Daniel wouldn’t. Usually the pain of these last strokes would far surpass the entirety of the preceding spanking. She bent over, putting her sweaty, shaky hands on her knees.

  Daniel wrapped his arm around her waist and tucked her into his hip again.

  He didn’t lie when he said it would hurt like the dickens. The swats came slow and hard, letting the sting and burn settle in before a new stroke ignited a fresh spot. By the time he finished, the pain had her dancing on her toes, reducing her to quiet sobbing. He lightly brushed his callused hand over her scorched flesh, easing at least some of the pain.