Calendar Girls

by April Hill

  As Hannah whirled around to determine who had spoken, Jed put up his hand to stop the tumult of hot words he knew was about to erupt. “That’s enough—all of you!” he ordered. He was relieved when Hannah didn’t immediately insist upon an apology, or demand that the trooper’s impulsive outburst be punished.

  She was still angry, though, and not ready to back down. Hannah Norwood was accustomed to having her way. When she turned back to Jed, her eyes were ablaze with anger.

  “It was my understanding that these men volunteered for this assignment,” she said curtly. “Am I mistaken?”

  Canfield shook his head. “No. They volunteered. That’s what the army calls it, anyway. Most people would probably call it something else.”

  “And what about you, Captain?” she asked smugly. “Do you intend to do your duty to your country, or stand here and make excuses for your men’s rudeness?”

  “I’m under orders,” he said flatly. “I’ll do what I’m told. And so will these men.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. But, there’ll still be no awning, and the stands stay where they are.”

  “And what about my flowerbeds?” she inquired coldly. Without waiting for him to answer, or for his assistance, she got down from the wagon and walked over to Sergeant Jenkins.

  “You look strong and healthy, Sergeant. Like a man accustomed to hard work. A farmer, perhaps. Surely, you and these other men, here, wouldn’t refuse to plant a few simple flowerbeds—for your country?”

  When Jenkins looked down at her, from his impressive height, his anger was almost palpable. “Seems to me like we already done our share for the country, and then some. We ain’t gonna be plantin’ no damn flowers—except’n the Cap’n says so, that is”

  Hannah Norwood’s face went red. She had already raised her hand to slap the Sergeant’s face when Jed grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of range.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, addressing the men. “The lady and I need a few moments in private, to discuss things—flowerbeds and what have you.”

  Still gripping her by the wrist, Canfield yanked Hannah along behind him, across the field. When they were no longer within earshot of the obviously curious troopers, he stopped, but didn’t release her. Hannah took advantage of the pause to smack his upper arm with all her strength—twice.

  “How dare you drag me away like a…” she began.

  “These men are tired and hot, and they need rest,” he interrupted, rubbing the bruised arm. “They agreed to build a parade ground and a grandstand, not to plant flowers that’ll be dead before this stupid damned picnic of yours gets started. I can see you’ve still got a bad temper, Miss Norwood. I suggest that you get it under control—fast.”

  “I assure you that I had no intention of actually striking that man, Captain,” she hissed. “And I fail to see why my temper, or anything else about me, should be any concern of yours!”

  “As you have excellent reason to remember,” he said quietly. “I don’t like bad manners. And I especially don’t like them when they’re directed at men under my command, who aren’t free to respond the way they might like to.” He rubbed his arm. “And I don’t much like being punched, either.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Captain, “ she replied smugly. “I am a grown woman, now. If any of your men wish to complain about my manners, you may be quite certain I won’t be shocked by whatever sort of vulgar language they wish to use.”

  Canfield smiled. “It’s not their language I’m worried about.”

  “What, then?”

  “Right now, I’m afraid a few of them are thinking your manners could be improved by having your backside walloped. And I can guarantee there’d be no lack of volunteers to do the job.”

  She flushed. “And you, of course, with your history of…of brutality, would condone that sort of thing. Or even volunteer, yourself!”

  “Could be, since the first lesson didn’t seem to take. The one a few years ago, involving…let’s see, now, what was it I used? A couple of stout willow switches?”

  “You have a very poor memory, Captain,” she said, with a small smirk. “I was beaten viciously on that occasion—with a horrendous leather strap.”

  He grinned. “A short strip of broken harness, actually. Worked pretty well, as I recall. That’s what happens to impetuous young ladies with no common sense, who lure men out to deserted barns and try to seduce them.”

  “There are men would have appreciated such an opportunity,” she said coolly. “I am told that I wasn’t precisely unattractive.”

  “You were beautiful,” Canfield said softly. “Standing there in the moonlight in nothing but your corset and drawers.”

  She stared. “Then, why…?”

  “It didn’t seem honorable to take advantage of my host’s niece, even if she’d already asked for it by stripping down to her unmentionables and sticking her hand down the front of my pants.”

  “I did no such thing!” she cried.

  “I was a lot younger, back then,” he explained. “And a tad more chivalrous. When you kept it up, I figured a few swats across the rump might be just the thing to cool your ardor. As I remember it, that worked pretty well, too. You were hollering so loud they probably heard you in the next county.”

  “I bore the marks of your cruelty for two weeks,” she fumed. “The welts were horrible.”

  He grinned. “Funny, but all I noticed when you stomped out of the barn that night were a few pink stripes across both cheeks. I imagine they had a pretty good sting to ‘em, though.”

  “I should have told my Uncle,” she said coldly. “He would have had you court-martialed, and maybe hanged, which would still have been better than you deserved.”

  Canfield chuckled. “And risk getting the same from him? Not likely.”

  “I’ll have you know that the Colonel never raised a hand to me, even as a child!”

  “Maybe that’s where it went wrong,” he suggested. “You started out as a sweet kid—with a hell of a temper, mind you, but I can’t recall you ever being mean-spirited. Seems you picked that up along the way, somewhere.”

  “All I wanted was a husband with ambition, “ she insisted. “One I could be proud of.”

  “What you wanted was a career army officer,” he said quietly. “Preferably one with a brilliant political future. What you’d stopped wanting was to be my wife, on a ranch in Wyoming.”

  “Was that so wrong of me?”

  “No, what was wrong was trying to win the argument by getting yourself pregnant.”

  “You son of a bitch!” she cried. “I never…!”

  Canfield shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, now, Hannah. It’s over and done with. You got what you wanted, and the war’s over. I’ll be going home soon. Right now, though, you owe Sergeant Jenkins an apology, and if I were you, I’d make it sincere.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, but in a week or so, I’m going to be a private citizen, again, on my way back to Wyoming. I won’t be around to testify at the sergeant’s court martial—if he should happen to get himself arrested for paddling a deserving civilian’s backside. Now, after you’ve made your apology, I’m going back to my quarters to get some sleep. It might be a good idea for you to make a strategic retreat, while I’m still here to defend your exposed rear—so to speak.”

  “I have no intention of apologizing to that man. He’s a disrespectful boor. If anything, he owes me an apology.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. Jenkins spent a couple of years in a Confederate prison. He’s a little short on good manners, himself, right now, and that mint julep and magnolia blossom accent of yours probably isn’t sitting too well with him.”

  “As you know perfectly well, Captain,” she said. “I spent my girlhood in the South, but I moved North when my parents died and Uncle Stanley adopted me. I have always been a staunch supporter of the Union cause, my lingering accent notwithstanding.”

&
nbsp; Canfield grinned. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to see the Sergeant set off another war by spanking an unreconstructed rebel. Paddling a fellow Yankee’s not as likely to upset the political apple cart.”

  “This ridiculous conversation has gone quite far enough,” Hannah said coolly. “You are as unreasonable as you always were, and as crude as that illiterate bunch of field hands you call your men. I’m going to leave now, but please be assured that I will report this incident to my uncle, the moment I get back.”

  Jed took her firmly by the elbow. “I’ve just decided to alter my terms. Do you want to hear them?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Terms for what, may I ask?”

  “For your surrender, of course. Whatever else happens, today, you are going to get walloped. Hard. Not just because I’ve wanted to do it for three long years, but because you’ve wasted the time and hard work of a lot of very tired, very decent men on some half-assed project that didn’t need doing in the first place. And because you used an uncle who loves you to set up this whole thing so you could get back at me—a little last-minute revenge for something that happened years ago. So, the first thing that’s going to happen is I’m going to set your damned ass on fire. Then, I’m going to send you back to Washington and let you think things over for a while. With that said, I’ll make you a promise. If you’ll go back there and apologize to the Sergeant —humbly—I’ll agree not to put you over my knee and blister your backside here and now, in front of a bunch of bone-weary veterans, with every one of them cheering me on, and wishing he could be doing the blistering.”

  Hannah tried to pull free, but failed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Sure, I would. You’ve had this licking coming for three years, and this may be my last chance to get it done. And as luck would have it, there’s a brand new army-issue clothing brush in my saddlebag that’s perfect for the kind of hard duty I’ve got in mind. I’ve never had a chance to use it, until today. War is hell on a man’s dress trousers, you know.”

  “Do you really believe I won’t report these horrendous threats and your feeble attempts at blackmail to Uncle Stanley?” she demanded.

  “I always found Colonel Dickerson to be a fine man, and an honest one—a soldier’s soldier, and unless I miss my guess, he’ll be siding with me, when he hears the whole story. So, you’ve got a choice to make. Take the licking you deserve, graciously, or I ride back with you and have a little chat with the Colonel—about how you treat war veterans.”

  She smiled. “You may go straight to hell, Captain Canfield.”

  He returned her smile, then walked back to the spot where the men were still waiting, with Hannah still in tow.

  “You men are dismissed for the day,” he announced, then turned to Sergeant Jenkins. “Take the men into town and give them all the evening off, Sergeant. I’ll go back with Miss Norwood in the wagon, to see that she gets home safely.”

  Jenkins grinned. “Sure thing, Cap’n Canfield, sir. We’ll all sleep better knowin’ you’re takin’ such good care of that little lady. Just like any of us would, if we was asked to.”

  Hannah couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to her that the Sergeant winked.

  * * *

  When the men had ridden away, headed back to the city, Jed walked to where his horse was tethered, rummaged through his saddlebags for a few moments, and found a large wooden brush, oval in shape. He slipped the brush into his hip pocket, glanced around briefly, and pointed to a three-foot high stack of lumber.

  “That ought to do it,” he said simply.

  Hannah rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, come now, Jedidiah. We’re alone, now. There’s no one here to impress. You surely don’t expect me to believe that you’re actually going to do what you threatened. Something of such a…vulgar nature.”

  Jed smiled. “It’s real hard to give a real good spanking to someone without getting a little vulgar. It sort of goes with the territory.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked sullenly. “Humiliating me?”

  He thought for a moment. “Humiliating you, no, but I’d be lying if I claimed not to be looking forward to it. It’s one of those things that I should have done before I rode off, and I never expected to get the chance to right that particular wrong. So yes, I will enjoy the next few minutes—every damned swat of it.” With that, he sat down on the pile of lumber and patted his thigh. “Lift your petticoats and drop your britches, Hannah Louise. You’ve had this coming since the Confederates fired on Fort Sumter, and I can promise you’re never going to forget it.”

  When Hannah began to back away in the direction of the wagon, Jed sighed, stood up, and grabbed her around the waist. A moment later, she was sprawled across his lap, shrieking in protest. She twisted and kicked like a wildcat, making it something of a battle to get her skirts up and open the rear flap of her pantalettes. Captain Canfield was a seasoned officer and an excellent tactician, though, who’d been planning this particular skirmish for some years. He had the advantage of superior strength and mobility as well, since Hannah’s flailing legs became immediately entangled in her voluminous skirts and petticoats. Within seconds, she lay immobilized across his lap, with her legs pinned under his, and her plump, ivory buttocks bared and trembling.

  The government-issue clothing brush was six inches across, and sturdily constructed of solid Virginia oak. The effect of the hardy brush on Hannah—or more precisely, on Hannah’s bare backside— was nothing short of astonishing. Her first howl sliced through the humid evening air like a knife through soft-churned butter, startling the group of ducks that had been drifting half asleep on the Potomac.

  Jed had always understood that certain things were worth waiting for, however long the delay. What surprised him was that administering an epic spanking to a woman he had once loved with all his heart fell into that category—an event truly worth the wait.

  Hannah was a worthy opponent, though, and at several points in the proceedings, she came close to making good on an escape. She managed to scratch both Jed’s forearms, and bite him at least once—on the right knee. She paid dearly for both of these small victories, however, when Captain Canfield retaliated by parting her legs, yanking down her stockings, and delivering a volley of stinging blows to her tender inner thighs. Hannah screeched and bucked, and let fly a string of obscenities that made the captain grin. After which, he applied another half-dozen swats to the same locale, for good measure.

  The spanking that no doubt seemed like hours to Hannah actually required well under two minutes, from start to finish. That included arranging (and rearranging, when necessary) the squirming, squealing victim across the Captain’s knee, keeping her skirts positioned over her head, and adjusting the split in her drawers to expose the targeted area to best advantage. When it was over, Hannah’s lovely buttocks were covered with a disorderly riot of bright red splotches and livid, dark pink ovals that spread in only slightly less intense shades to her upper thighs. Her carefully coifed curls had become a snarled mass of damp ringlets, her face was flushed and tear-stained, and her nose had begun to run profusely. When she attempted to talk, and to berate him, she dissolved into a bout of helpless hiccups.

  It was, without question, the worst day of Hannah Norwood’s life, especially when Jed didn’t appear to be in the least remorseful. When he’d finished, in fact, he sat for just a moment with her still across his lap, then hurled the wooden brush into the Potomac, where it landed with a barely audible plunk. And then, he took her by her upper arms and set her back on her feet, so that she was standing between his opened knees, disheveled and miserable.

  “You are a bastard,” she said coldly. “And a hateful pig.”

  Jed smiled, turned her half around, and delivered a resounding, open-handed smack to Hannah’s already scalded bottom. With a shriek, she grabbed her throbbing buttocks with both hands.

  “That was not fair!” she gasped.

  He shrugged. “War is hell, Hannah Louise. Straighten your drawers an
d fix your hair, and I’ll take you home.”

  “I can’t go home like this,” she wailed. “And you know it! And I certainly can’t sit on the seat of a damned buckboard!”

  “Hurts, does it?”

  She merely glared at him, mumbling to herself, and began straightening her clothing.

  He stood up, and took her arm. “So, we’ll just walk along the river for a while, until you can sit down without yelping. How’s that?”

  “I’m not walking anywhere with you. You’re a vicious, loathsome bully and a despicable cad, and I’ll never stop hating you!”

  “You real sure of that?”

  She scowled. “I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you. And that includes Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis.”

  They walked for a while, without speaking, but before long, Hannah’s curiosity triumphed over her anger.

  “Uncle Stanley says that you’re one of the finest engineers in the U.S. Cavalry. When did that happen?”

  Canfield shook his head. “It didn’t. Colonel Dickerson gives me too much credit. My men and I rigged a bridge over a creek so a couple of generals could get across without getting their feet wet. Toward the end of the war, I guess that’s all it took to be called an engineer. I’m still just a horse soldier—about to be a former horse soldier.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re determined to give up your military career?”

  “It was never supposed to be a career—as you know,” he said. “To my mind, the U.S. Cavalry is a temporary job that’s already lasted too long. I’ll be heading home as soon as this project of yours is finished. They tell me the railway runs all the way to Cheyenne, now. After that, I’ll buy me a saddle and a good horse, and point both of us west.”

  “I should have known that you’d go back to all those silly cows,” she said, with obvious distaste. “You could stay in the army and fight the Indians, you know,” she suggested. “Uncle Stanley says there’s a young Chief called Sitting Bull up there who’s been nothing but trouble.”