by Lee Savino
“You did?”
Esther’s laugh rang out again. “He didn’t tell you? Miles can’t read or write. Johnathan penned it for him, and I approved every word.” She must have seen the disappointed look on Carrie’s face, because she added, “Miles dictated much of it. We only helped by asking questions. I suggested the part where he speaks straight to you, and Johnathan had the idea to add his favorite verse.”
“Oh.” Carrie couldn’t think of more to say but felt relieved that the letter was still from Miles’ heart. She had so little insight into him.
Again Esther seemed to understand Carrie’s thoughts. “He’ll warm up to you, Carrie. You’ll be good for him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Miles barely lets on to anyone what he’s thinking, and you wear every emotion on your face.” Esther smiled gently to show she was teasing. “You’ll balance each other out. You’ll see.”
“The townspeople seem to think Miles’ very stern.” Carrie went on to explain Mr. Martin and Wilder’s words about him, and then Esther looked fierce.
“Those old gossips. They’re just jealous of the result of his hard work. Also, Lyle bears a grudge. He and Miles had a falling out.”
“Why?”
“That’s something you should ask Miles,” Esther said, sadness crossing her face. “Although I can tell you that Miles has a reputation for being picky over who owns his horses. More than once, Miles has refused to sell one to a buyer.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, and it makes the buyers quite cross. His horses are the best, you see, and he won’t sell to anyone he thinks lacks character. So what does that tell you about Mr. Martin and Mr. Wilder?” Esther winked at Carrie, then leaped to her feet. “Enough of this talk. Let’s get you ready for your wedding.”
*****
The Reverend Shepherd was a very, very tall man with a quiet voice. Quite an opposite to his lovely, cheerful wife, but the two seemed to work well together. Esther took her husband’s arm every chance she got, and he gave her fond looks so often Carrie found herself wishing Miles would do the same with her.
When they all met together in the parlor, Carrie took Miles’ strong arm and leaned on him. Touching him felt natural, ever since the evening when he carried her.
Esther had spent an hour weaving Carrie’s hair into a crown pinned up and decorated with wildflowers. Carrie wore her same blue gown, but Esther gave her a lovely shawl, peach silk with tiny red, white and green flowers.
“It came all the way from England,” she told Carrie. “A gift. For your wedding day.”
When Carrie protested, Esther had smiled calmly. “I insist. The colors never suited me.”
The Reverend led them in a simple ceremony, reading from his large, worn bible with small spectacles perched on his nose.
Esther stood to the side with a posy of red flowers, and as soon as the Reverend pronounced the Donovan’s “man and wife” she threw handfuls of the petals all over her own parlor.
Carrie wished she could stay with the Shepherds longer, but Miles wanted to be back to the homestead by dusk.
Esther smiled at her. “We’ll see each other again, soon enough. We have a service every Sunday, unless Johnathan is called away for an emergency. But you’re welcome to come inside and read his bible, even if we’re not here.”
“Thank you,” Carrie whispered. And Esther hugged her.
“I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll be a good wife to him.”
Carrie glanced over at her solemn-looking husband, shaking the Reverend’s hand. “I’m not so sure.”
“I am,” Esther said. “He won’t admit it, but he’s been alone far too long. He needs a helpmate.”
“I think I make more work for him.”
Esther laughed. “That’s to be expected when you’re learning to work together.” She tucked Carrie’s arm into hers and they moved outside to the wagon. “Don’t worry, he’s already in love with you.”
Carrie felt her heart clench at the thought. “You think so?”
“Of course. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s happy.”
Picturing Miles’ serious face, Carrie wondered how Esther could tell. Then the two women looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“Come on now, Carrie,” Miles called.
Giving Esther’s hand one last squeeze, Carrie went to her husband.
*****
“She’s wonderful,” Carrie sighed as the town disappeared from view.
“I thought you’d like her. She’s taken to you.”
“It seems she’d take to anyone,” Carrie said. Twisting, she saw the wagon was packed full, with sacks of grain and boxes and tins, and two finely carved chairs.
“You got the goods,” she said in surprise.
“The Reverend and I went while you were with Esther. He insisted on paying for a few things, too, as a wedding gift.”
“What things?” she asked, eyeing the new chairs, and thinking they’d look perfect at their table, but Miles didn’t answer. Instead, he grinned at her. The sight took her breath away, and she was so shocked she forgot everything else.
*****
With all the weight bearing them down, the ride home was much less bouncy. The only surprise on their journey was Miles shifted and reached under the seat, drawing out a long rifle. Carrie sat up straight and tucked her legs under her, keeping quiet as a rider appeared ahead of them, galloping hard towards them on a black stallion.
“Mr. Wilder,” Miles called out, but the black clad mailman didn’t slow or acknowledge them, just pounded past the wagon, leaving a cloud of dust.
“So rude,” Carrie said.
Miles said nothing, but set his gun down close at hand.
“He’s our neighbor, correct?” Carrie asked.
Miles gave her a sharp look. “How do you know that?”
“I met him at the store. And again, when he came out to the homestead.”
“When was that?” Miles’ deep, angry voice sounded like gunshot.
“The first full day I was here. Before I went into the river.” Carrie quailed, drawing her arms around her. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. I meant to. I just forgot.”
After a minute of strained silence, Miles sighed. “You’re not to blame. Wilder stirs up trouble for me when he can, is all. What did he say to you?”
Carrie recounted the event best she could, and Miles looked thoughtful. “You did well,” he said, surprising her again. “If you see him again, tell him I told you not to speak to him. Then shut and lock the door.”
She shivered. “Why does he hate you so much?”
Miles stayed silent so long she thought she might have offended him.
“We were partners once,” Miles said. “And had a falling out. We had claimed land together and split it down the middle, with an aim to help one another tend the land and the cattle. When we quarreled, he took half the herd, but then let them wander through the winter. They all took sick and died.” Up ahead, a dead trunk lay halfway across the road, and Miles steered the pair around the obstacle before resuming his story. “That spring, he came asking for a mare or two on loan, so he could breed them. I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d seen how he treated his cattle, and had no wish to see more animals die.” He leaned forward and called to the horses. Within seconds, they’d picked up the pace.
Carrie let a mile go by. “He certainly has a nice stallion.”
“I know,” Miles said. “I trained it.”
*****
They arrived at the cabin an hour before sunset, and Carrie unloaded as many of the goods as she could before Miles finished with the horses. The chairs went in first, replacing the stools at the table.
“Bella’s looking more and more ready. I’d say the foal comes tomorrow, or the day after.” He lifted a sack Carrie had struggled with out of the wagon as if it weighed nothing, and then added a second on the opposite shoulder. Then he
strode up to the homestead, while Carrie admired his retreating back.
“What’s this?” she asked when he returned, pointing to a large, misshapen bundle, tied up with twine.
“A surprise.” Once again, his eyes crinkled into a grin, and he reached out to pluck one of the flowers from her hair before carrying the bundle up the hill. She followed, wondering who this new man was. Compared to the old Miles, he was practically jovial.
A more serious Miles waited for her on the porch, blocking her way. “Not now, Carrie,” he said. “There’s a matter of your punishment.”
“Punishment? For what?”
“The gate. You left it open this morning, despite my instructions. You also left it open earlier this week, and didn’t tell me.”
“I caught all of them—” she blurted, before realizing she’d given herself away. “I didn’t think you needed to know.”
“You cannot hide things from me, even if you think they’ll lead to punishment. I forgive mistakes easily. But not deception.”
Her face fell, even as she wanted to cry out how unfair it was to receive discipline on her wedding day.
“I believe in swift correction.” He seemed to read her mind. “A quick punishment, and then it’s over and done with.” Another moment ticked by, while he seemed to wait for her protest, and when she didn’t, he gave a satisfied nod. With a hand on her back, he guided her down the path and stopped in front of the ignomious gate.
“Lift your skirts and lean over the railing.”
Heart pounding, she did as he bid, telling herself that no one lived within miles, and even if Mr. Wilder chose this inopportune moment to come calling, they’d hear him approach. It was no good; her face heated with embarrassment even as she felt her new husband step behind her and pull up her skirts even further before easing down her drawers.
“Hold them up.”
She gripped the fabric, feeling the breeze on her bare cheeks, then Mile’s warm, rough hand rubbing the places still a little sore from her previous punishment.
“You’re receiving correction for leaving the gate open. This is your responsibility and from now on I expect you to pay attention to it.” He patted her bottom as he spoke, stopping to knead her flesh once and awhile. “I will give you a spanking, followed by six strikes with a switch.”
Carrie remembered the switch from her chastisement as a child and shut her eyes.
Meanwhile, the pats became more and more firm, until her cheeks felt quite hot in the cool evening air. Miles stopped and squeezed her flesh harder.
“Are you ready to submit and receive your correction?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, trembling.
His hand fell and she tightened her grip on her skirts. The spanks came quickly, crashing down on her bare flesh and making her gasp. These strikes would be nothing next to the switching.
It was over too soon. Miles’ large hands worked over her heated flesh. “That’s it, Carrie. You’re taking your punishment well.”
She let her head sag over the gate, ignoring the hens that ventured towards her, clucking curiously. They seemed to be heckling her.
“Stay here. Skirts up.” Miles left to cut the switch. When he returned, one of his hands went to her back to steady her. “Three from this side, then three from the other.”
The fresh switch sliced across her backside with a whipping sound, followed by a jagged flash of pain that throbbed wildly.
“Oh.” She winced, and then the tears started to flow. Two more strikes and she cried out and writhed a little against Miles’ hand.
“Steady,” he warned. “Be still.”
He waited until she quieted before changing sides.
“I’m going to give you three more strikes. After each, say ‘I will always close the gate’.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. Felt it proper to call him sir.
“Good girl,” he muttered and there was a pause as he positioned himself.
This time, when the switch cut into her flesh, she almost dropped her skirts. Tears flowed faster and she hung her head, whimpering in pain. After a moment, she realized why her husband was waiting. “I will always close the gate,” she said.
“Good girl,” he repeated and stepped close enough to take her skirts from her hand. “Put your hands on the fence now. I’ll hold your skirt.”
Once positioned, she waited for the telltale whistle and crack of the switch. It came, and she flinched, but remembered her lines. “I will always close the gate.”
“That’s it, one more.” Her husband’s voice, warm and comforting, came to her, and the final swat and line repeated, she collapsed a little, sobbing.
She started to reach back to rub her sore rump, and he caught her hand. “Keep your hands on the fence for a few minutes,” he said. She obeyed, leaning forward further as she felt him arrange her skirts so her backside would remain exposed. “Think on your lesson until I return.”
Hanging her head, she wished her hair would cover her face. The chickens all moving about the yard, giving her disapproving glances.
It seemed hours had passed before she heard him walk up behind her.
“Stay still.” His hands traced her weals carefully before smearing some thick unguent over the hurt. The sting didn’t fully leave, but it dulled enough for Carrie to breathe a sigh of relief.
“All right now.” Miles pulled down her skirts and she straightened. He turned her to him and held her; she hugged him back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, words muffled in his shirt.
“I know you are, Carrie girl, and you’re forgiven. The slate’s wiped clean.”
They stood leaning on each other for a moment. Miles didn’t seem eager to move; his broad hand rubbed her back, lulling her into contentment.
Finally he kissed her forehead—she felt a little thrill when she realized what he’d done—and took her hand.
“Come see your wedding present.”
She followed Miles into the homestead, wishing she could rub her bottom, but not quite daring to disobey him.
He stopped just inside the doorway, then stepped aside. He’d pushed the old stools to the side and placed the new chairs at the kitchen table, Esther’s shawl draped over the back of one of them. The larder was overflowing with new food, including some fancy jars filled with delicious, colorful contents.
“How lovely,” Carrie started to say, when her husband caught her shoulders and turned her to face the bed. She didn’t recognize it at first, because piled high on the frame was a new, white mattress.
“It’s down,” Miles said as Carrie hurried to cross the room and sink her hand into the fluffy pile. With an excited cry, she whirled and lay back, and closed her eyes at the feeling like floating on the clouds. Her bottom didn’t even protest as she lay on the soft feathers.
She stretched out, a large grin on her face. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, a weight lay next to her, and her body rolled into Miles. His arms closed around her and he kissed her breathless.
“Been waiting days to do that,” he murmured, his fingers lingering in her hair before he swung himself up and out of bed. “Need to check on the cattle before dinner,” he said.
A sigh escaped her before she could catch it, and his face cracked into another grin.
Miles was long gone before Carrie’s heartbeat steadied. Her bottom still pulsed with pain, but that only seemed to add to her excitement. What was it about this man that set her blood pounding? Her whole body felt hot and happy, flushed with breathless anticipation. And she hardly understood why.
She caressed the soft mattress and felt the familiar surge of excitement, mixed with fear. He’d gotten her a gift that suited her, but would also benefit him. It made her wonder how much she needed to know about the relations between a man and woman.
Her mother had died when Carrie was young, and her brother Thomas had raised her, with the help of a few spinsters at church. Between all her guardians, she’d missed the teaching on lovemaking.
None of the old maids had enlightened her on the subject. In fact, some of their advice confused her.
She’d seen a dog mount another, but other than that, what little she’d learned she’d gleaned in snatches from a few of the married church women, plus one awkward conversation with her brother where he’d corrected a misunderstanding.
Of course, the last man who’d made her heart flutter turned out to be a scoundrel, but she couldn’t let her thoughts slide down that dark road.
All through making dinner, worry gnawed her. What if Miles didn’t think she was beautiful? What if she didn’t know enough to please him? Could she be a good wife to him if she could not perform for him in this way?
Then she heard Miles’ footfalls on the porch, and rushed to put the pot of simple hominy on the table. Her eyes fell on the shawl Esther had given her, draped over the new chair.
Don’t worry, he’s already in love with you.
“Dinner ready?” Miles asked from the doorway. He’d washed his face and hands, and sleeked back his reddish brown hair. His face did look relaxed and calm, though his tawny eyes burned when they met hers.
“Yes.” She shook out of his spell and hurried to get the final dish, a luxurious treat of canned peaches in their own syrup, another gift from Esther. Miles watched her rush about, and though she didn’t look at him, she had the feeling a smile hovered over his face, just out of sight.
“You can stand for your meal, if you wish,” he said. Her cheeks turned pink, and she only just stopped herself from rubbing her sore bottom.
As she served him, he caught her hand long enough to squeeze it. She halted and took his large hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. She kissed the roughened skin, looking into his tawny eyes, then ducked her head.
He waited until she’d seated herself gingerly on her new chair before starting to eat.
“Wait.” She stopped him. “We need to say grace.”
He set down the bread and took her hand. A thrill went through her, but she closed her eyes and joined him in prayer.