The Great Big Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 4)

by Dani Haviland

  Benji didn’t have to hear any words; he had seen it in her face, the doubt, the concern, about what he wanted from her. “I dinna want anything from ye,” he explained as if she could understand. “Weel, except maybe a laugh or to hear ye sing. Ye see, I ken what it’s like to be a slave.” He sighed, looked around, and saw that they were still alone. There wasn’t anything he had to do, so he decided to take a break. They had food that was easy to prepare, dry wood, and plenty of water. Maybe it would ease his mind to talk about it, even if it was to a woman who couldn’t understand his words. Confession heals the soul or something like that he had heard—somewhere.

  He sighed loudly. “I think it was my Grandpa who told me that confession was good fer the soul,” he began. “So, that bein’ said, get comfortable because I have a lot of confessin’ to do and ye,” he turned to look her in the face, whether he could see her eyes or not, “are the one who has to listen to it.”

  Benji kicked back against the tree near the log that she had been sitting on earlier. She sat down on the fallen lumber bench again, politely listened, or so it seemed, as he rambled on about his early life. He told her of the happy times he had in this century, and how he and his mother, father, and sister had to go back ‘through the stones’ to his parent’s time in the 20th century so his sister could have surgery to repair her heart. “The surgery worked,” he said as he thumped his chest, “Thump, thump; thump, thump. She was as healthy as could be when they took me.”

  He turned to look at her. “Would ye please sit down here with me,” he asked, and patted the ground an arm’s length away. “Please,” he repeated with total sincerity. He really needed someone to be close to him, at least in physical proximity. He was suddenly missing his little sister. They had been so close, and losing her had been like losing an arm.

  Jane rose from the log and squatted down where he had indicated. He shook his head and said, “Sit like ye would if ye were by yerself, not waitin’ to serve a master, because Lord knows, I am not yer master.”

  It was a good thing that Benji wasn’t looking at her when he said that. Not my master—then who are you? She quickly put her blank façade back on, but did adjust her position so she was sitting on her bottom, turned slightly toward him and leaning forward, her hands on the ground beside her. She looked down, at his hands rather than his face. She really wanted to look into his eyes to see if she could verify that he had a good soul. She could study his hands, though, and still tell much. Yes, they were the hands of a worker. There were scars all over the backs of them, and it looked like he had almost–no, he had–lost the end of his pinkie finger on his right hand. She heard him talking, but didn’t listen closely to what he said. She gazed at his white legs that were bent up close to his chest, his arms wrapped around his shins, chin planted on his knees. He was sad, very, very sad.

  BANG! CRACK! Suddenly the air broke apart with the sound of thunder. “Quick, get away from the tree,” he said as he grabbed her arm to run with him toward the creekside.

  Jane was scared and didn’t want to leave. She pulled against his grip, trying to return to the shelter of the big tree. “NO!” he screamed, then forced his shoulder into her belly, throwing her over his shoulder just as another shout of thunder and flash of lightning hit, both at the same time.

  Jane lifted her head away from his back as he physically hauled her away and saw the tree she thought was her security, was now split in two, a ball of fire burning at the top where the lightning had hit.

  “Lightning is attracted to tall things, and that means us, too,” he yelled as he set her on her feet. “Lie down, and, oh, shit!”

  Now it was hailing. Both of them dropped to the ground, crouched on elbows and knees, their hands over their heads as they tried to keep the marble-sized ice rocks from splitting their skulls. Benji looked around and couldn’t see any protection until he saw her sarong. “Take it off,” he shouted over the roar of the storm.

  The shocked look in her eyes was not because she didn’t know what he said, but because she did know. Benji pulled her up, pointed to the sarong and grabbed what he hoped was the trailing edge of the camouflage fabric. He jerked it off, spinning her around awkwardly in the process.

  She didn’t resist when he took off her clothing, but fell back to the ground, sobbing in both shame and terror. Tears were running down her cheeks, afraid of what she was sure would follow. She wanted to scream in anger at herself for trusting him. But, all of her strength and courage were gone. Now she was like all of the other slaves, cowering in the dirt, stripped of clothing and dignity.

  Benji grabbed two sticks and pushed them into the sandy soil on either side of her. “Here,” he yelled against the wind, and pushed the edge of the storm-buffeted former sarong into her hand, “Hold onto it here, really tight. I’m trying to make a tent to keep the hail from hittin’ us.”

  She did as she was told, not because she was his slave, but because she wanted to. She realized he was building a shelter over her. He was trying to protect her, keep her safe. Now she remembered: he had said the cloth she wore was also a tent, and a means to hide them.

  The wind was too strong for his impromptu anchors; it whipped the fabric like a kite away from the large rocks he had set on the edges of the cloth. He shouted to her from outside of the improvised tent, “Use yer feet to hold down the cloth back here, and then hold the front with yer hands.”

  She looked up from her huddled position and saw what was needed. She stretched out one foot to each corner and held it down, then did the same with her hands and elbows on the front and sides. She bit off the words, “Get in here,” but hoped he would. She could see the now plum-sized balls of hail bouncing off his head and shoulders.

  Benji ran back to the log bench, grabbed his meager belongings, and then scrambled back to Jane and the impromptu pup tent. He climbed in over her tent securing splayed body, carrying his sporran, rucksack of food and dishes, and the damp bundle of blue cloth held close to his middle. He needed to maneuver around her arms and legs to get a place to lie down in the low-ceilinged, two-poled fort. Gulp. Her naked arms, legs, and back.

  Pay attention to the situation, Mac. “Here, let me help,” he yelled over the constant cracks of thunder. He took over holding down one side of the tent as she turned away from him to keep the other side from blowing up and away. He held down his side of the tent with his legs and backside as he shoved their worldly possessions under his head like a pillow. She was facing away from him, struggling with her edge of the tent, not touching him, but her nude body only an inch away. “Are ye okay?” he hollered.

  Jane nodded, but kept facing the cloth wall. “Are ye sure?” he continued, “Did the hail cut ye?”

  She shook her head ‘no,’ then flinched as another bolt of lightning flared—by the sound of it, hitting the same tree. “Do ye want me to hold ye?” he asked just as loud, but in a gentler tone.

  Jane started to shake her head, then froze. She realized too late that she was answering his questions without watching his hand gestures. Her shoulders started heaving with dry sobs she couldn’t control. She had fooled everyone for so many years, and now he knew that she could understand his words.

  “Weel, if I canna hold ye, can ye hold me? I’m scarrit!” Benji declared with just enough levity to stop her crying.

  Jane shifted her feet and hands to keep the walls held down, then turned to face him, this time looking directly into his eyes. The lightning flares were slowing down and the crashes of noise weren’t as loud: the storm was going away. The hail had stopped, and a steady rainfall had taken its place. Another bright flash without noise and she could see his face. His eyes were as blue as a summer sky, and he had freckles all over his face. She reached up with her free hand and touched the ones on his left cheek, lightly rubbing. “They willna come off,” he said softly.

  “Angel kisses,” she said just as tenderly, then reached around him and thought of her mother as she lay dying, asking to be held. “I’ll hol
d you. Don’t be afraid,” she said.

  Benji bit back his words. He didn’t want to be brave. He really was scared. But it wasn’t the storm: it was his feelings for her that had him terrified.

  Jane held him and sang the song her mother had taught her. She tried to sing it at least once a month, when she got ‘the curse,’ so she would remember the words. She couldn’t tell time passage using the moon. The skies were predictable, but her being able to be outside to see them was not. “Hmm, hmm, hmm,” she sang then rubbed his back like she had her mother, letting her tears fall without shame. Holding a person like this felt as good as the lemon drop candy had tasted.

  She suddenly pushed him away. “What?” Benji asked, surprised. The frown on her face told him the answer. “Oh, I’m sorry. I dinna do it on purpose. I mean, I told ye I wouldna bother ye that way, and I mean it. I have an oath on my head. Jane, do ye ken what an oath is?” he asked sincerely.

  “I’m ignorant, not stupid,” she replied with disdain.

  “Oh, really? Well, Ignorant, I am Stupid,” he joked. “No, really, a long time ago, well, more than a couple of years ago anyway, I told God that if He would bless me, then I wouldna have sex with a woman, or anyone else fer that matter,” he said as he rolled his eyes, trying to lighten the very serious atmosphere, “unless I was marrit to her. So, since there isna a preacher here, yer safe,” he added with a smile.

  “So you don’t want to have your way with me?” she asked, still unsure of his intentions.

  “No, I mean yes, I mean,” he stammered. He took a deep breath to try and compose himself, his chest almost pressing against hers unintentionally with the increase in lung capacity. “No, I willna ‘have my way’ with ye because of my oath. All right?” Jane nodded that she understood, but looked at him like she was waiting for the rest of the answer. “And yes, I would like to ‘be’ with you. But, that’s not the same as ‘have my way.’ I mean, when I’m from, both people must want it, not jest the one; it isna right otherwise. Oh, crap,” he said in realization, “I’ve been talkin’ about…. How much of it do ye believe?”

  “Does it make a difference?” she asked. “No one would believe me. I mean, you know what people think of slaves.”

  “That’s not what I asked. How much do ye believe?” some of his fear manifesting itself with the squeak of the word ‘ye.’

  “Did you really mean what you said, that I could go to school there, in your time, college even?”

  Benji nodded and bit his bottom lip. She was even more appealing when she spoke.

  “And, white folks and Negroes really get along?” she asked as a conditional response.

  Benji nodded. “Yes, but we say ‘African Americans’ or ‘Blacks,’ and they really do work together, go to school together, get married and have babies together…”

  “And, you have a vow on you…” she reminded him.

  “Yes, although right now I really wished I dinna,” he groaned with his eyes squeezed shut.

  “Does that mean that you can’t, um, kiss?” she asked bashfully.

  Benji’s eyes opened wide. “Nope. I can kiss all day and all night and…do you want to kiss me? I mean, I said that I wouldna touch ye, but ye can touch me…or kiss me…or both…”

  Jane delayed her answer. She had found the rock anchor for the tent with her foot and set it in place. The wind had died down; it should hold. Benji had noticed her feet moving as she was deciding and had done the same. “So, I can kiss you?” she asked, still a bit unsure if she should even touch a white man, even one who had papers that said he owned her.

  “Oh, I sure wish ye would,” pled Benji as he arched his back, shut his eyes, and stuck out his lips. “And ye can do it all day and all night...” he mumbled through pursed, anticipating lips.

  Jane kept her eyes open as she leaned in for her first voluntary kiss with anyone but her mama. Her eyes shut automatically as her lips touched his. The most wonderful feeling washed down the front of her neck and shoulders, tingling her breasts, then flowing down her belly until it seeped even further down, warming the place between her legs where babies were made. It was like she was wearing a rainbow. She pulled away from the kiss and looked at him again. His face looked like she felt. She might not be able to do it all night and all day, but most likely, hopefully, all night.

  The kissing went on long after the thunder was gone. Jane was still naked save her leather apron, and Benji only had on the long shirt that, although it covered the top half of him, it didn’t keep his firmness from her. She shifted her pose, trying to avoid being jabbed, but realized that that wasn’t going to work. She slid her hand down and gently tried to reposition him through his shirt. She clutched and tried shifting him, but the cloth kept his awkward angle in place. She hummed as she held onto his shoulders and lifted her body up towards his head, allowing some slack in his shirt. She gathered the shirttail in her hand and pulled it up, freeing his stiff cock. She reached down to move it aside and gasped at how hot it was.

  “It’s full of my boilin’ blood,” he said softly as he leaned in to kiss her neck. “It feels like it’s goin’ to explode. I’ll keep my vow, but if I run out of here in a hurry, dinna take it personally.”

  “Um,” Jane didn’t have any intimate experience with men personally, but she had heard the other slave women talk. She had managed to keep herself from both the masters and other slaves by brute force or cleverness. But, now she wanted to know more, feel more. She was willing to believe some of what the others had told her. At least what she was feeling in her hand felt like what they had said was what made a man happy, and a woman, too, if he used it right. And, she wanted it inside her: it felt like that was where it was supposed to be. “Can I hold it?” she asked. “I mean, will that break your vow?”

  Benji stopped kissing her neck and rolled onto his back. He looked down at the obscenely large pole sticking up off of his belly, the anaconda looking for prey. “If ye do, I dinna ken what will happen. I mean, it has a mind of its own about when it, um, goes off.”

  “Will it hurt if it does?” she asked pensively.

  “No, I dinna think so, but it will be a bit wet and sticky.”

  “Not me; you. Will it hurt you? The other slaves said a man makes a horrible noise when he, um, goes off.”

  “Ach, no. It feels mighty good when it does. It’s nae so fine as when it’s ins… No, it willna hurt me,” he said, then picked up her free hand and kissed it. “But, ye needna do anythin’ ye dinna want to do. I’ll survive. A might uncomfortable fer a while, but I’ll be fine. Can I kiss on ye some more?”

  Jane bent over and kissed him on the lips, pulled back briefly and said, “All night long,” then reached down and gently but firmly, wrapped the hand he had kissed around his hot cock, gently pulling the skin around it up then down like the women had told her. Like milking a cow, only slower and firmer, gradually increasing the speed.

  “Am I doing it right?” she asked as he gasped.

  “Uh, huh,” he gasped again, “don’t, stop...oh, please...don’t…stop…”

  23 The Morning After

  B enji awoke with a smile that went from his squinty blue eyes all the way down to his long, naked toes. He could feel the sunshine on his face enhancing the warmth he felt, both inside and out. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew it was a beautiful day. It was morning and he was a free man. His first thought was that the passion the night before had only been an adolescent wet dream. His relaxed body, de-stressed for the first time in years, remembered the physical release, all right, but last night’s kissing and groping definitely involved another person.

  Right now, this other person was five yards away, squatted next to the fire, head bowed, eyes cast down. Since he couldn’t see her face, he couldn’t tell whether she was happy, embarrassed, angry, or shamed. He crawled out of the crude tent and parked next to Jane, mimicking her squatted position. “Can I kiss ye?” Benji asked pensively.

  Jane didn’t respond to his question
, instead took her fire tending stick, and poked the coals around the Dutch oven. He stood up and walked around her. “Okay, since I ken ye can understand me, and ye obviously dinna care to speak, I’ll assume ye jest want to go back to how we used to be. I’ll blabber all day about my old life: planes, trains, and automobiles, and how I’m back here to find my way to my grandsire’s home. And then ye can keep yer head bowed, walk five steps behind me, feed me greenballs, and laugh at my cock when the cold water makes it shrink up…”

  Jane’s shoulders were jiggling with her effort to hold back her laughter. “I ken ye were in there somewhere underneath that slave suit they’ve made ye wear all yer life,” Benji said. He added softly, “Ye dinna have to wear it when we’re together, at least when it’s jest the two of us.”

  Jane lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “I think it will be safer for both of us if I keep it on, at least during the daytime.”

  “Oh, Janie,” he said and gathered her head into his belly. He let loose, then moved back so he could squat down beside her. “There has to be a way. I mean, fer ye and me to be, well, dammit!” He leaned back and plopped down hard onto his bottom next to her. “I ken I’m no better than ye. There’s no reason other than the rules and laws of man that we canna be together.”

  “The rules and laws of men in this time,” Jane corrected as she gave him a look of hope.

  “Aye, in this time,” he agreed. “There may not be much that I cared for then, but they dinna have slavery. At least, based on the color of a person’s skin,” he added, shifting his shoulders in memory of the whips that had crossed his back more than once in his younger days.

  An angry voice barked from the edge of the copse, startling them both. “I don’t care if you do have a piece of paper; I want her back!”