***
The morning was a bleak one. Amanda had not slept all night. Between the hard, lumpy cot, the thunderstorm, and the damaging hail of charges she was hurtling on herself, there was no way she could be calm enough to sleep. When she heard Garth pulling up outside the jail cell with a tray a food, her eyes popped open. Sitting up, she tried remembering why she was there; the last few hours had gone by in such a blur.
“What’s going to happen?” she asked worriedly as she took the tray.
“I don’t know, Amanda. Jake has every right to prosecute. And I have every right to see this through. You broke the law.”
“So what does that mean?”
“You’ll go before a judge this morning. You’ll need a lawyer. Perhaps you should call Pam Fox.”
Pam was her personal friend who had a small law practice in town. She could just hear her bosomy attorney rant at her for this stupidity. “I suppose so. You really think that’s necessary?”
“Unless you two can patch things up some other way.”
“You mean I don’t have to be, what is it? Arraigned.”
“Probably not, but it’s not my place to figure it out.”
She nodded. “I guess I should call Pam.”
Thankfully, the courtroom was fairly quiet that morning. A cuffed Amanda appeared from the side door escorted by May Kingston, the jail Matron—who only worked when there was a female inmate—a rare occasion in White Birch.
Amanda went directly before Judge Dickerson—a drowsy old fellow with heavy jowls and the drawl of a Southern gentleman. A second later the courtroom’s main entrance opened, and Jake Colton ambled up the aisle preparing to take a seat—he appeared less volatile than he’d been the night before.
“Mr. Colton, you want to join us, please?” The Judge called to him.
The county magistrate was a crotchety old geezer but he was pretty wise, if not a little antiquated in his thinking. He had read this situation properly and was not about to get in a game between two quarreling lovers.
He addressed Jake first, “This report indicates that the two of you have been ‘going together’? That right?”
“We’ve dated.”
“A little,” Amanda added.
“I didn’t ask you a thing now, did I, Miss Plover?”
“No, sir.”
“Then hush your mouth.” He turned back to Jake. “This some lover’s spat?”
“No, it isn’t Judge. Miss Plover and I have business dealings as well.”
“And you think this had something to do with that?”
“Maybe you should let her explain,” he scowled sarcastically.
Judge Dickerson seemed to agree and he turned to Amanda. “Says you broke into the newspaper office last night. That so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What for?”
“I was looking for evidence.”
“Of what, girl, spit it out.”
“I have good reason to believe that Mr. Colton is trying to sell my stables without my knowing.”
“I was trying to save the stables!” Jake corrected her.
“Now you hush,” the judge scowled at Jake. “You couldn’t take your concerns to him personally?” he asked Amanda.
“I didn’t think I’d get a straight answer.”
“Humph,” Dickerson snarled under his breath. “Seems to me this is a domestic problem, not something to waste my time with.” He sighed again and shook his head. “But…” he drawled, “I can’t let you off the hook. You’ve been charged with breaking and entering. You acknowledge that happened?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you plead guilty?”
“I do.”
“Wait a minute!” Pam Fox, who’d been sitting idly by, jumped to her feet. “I need to speak with my client before she pleads anything.”
“No, you don’t,” Amanda said, turning around. “This is the way I want it handled.”
“You’re making a mistake, hon.”
“Then I guess I am. I want it over with.”
“You two done?” Judge Dickerson finally barked.
“Yes, yes we are,” Amanda decided.
“Well then, Miss Plover,” the old man said… he took his glasses off and rubbed the lenses on the tail of his robe, then replaced him on his nose, peering through them at the brash young rancher. “Your behavior was foolish and I can’t let it slide. This may be a somewhat sleepy old town, but we do mete out justice when a perpetrator comes through my courtroom. There are two options—I’m sure neither one will suit you, but then punishment isn’t suppose to be comfortable. It’s either sixty days in the county jail or a more graphic alternative.”
“Alternative, sir?” Amanda asked.
“In my court, Ms. Plover, uppity women who get too big for their britches will get them taken down to size. If you want to avoid time in jail, you’ll bare your behind and take the licking you deserve. Now, we’ll adjoin to my chambers to work out the details. After that, I’d suggest the two of you put your heads together and patch things up. I know you two. You’re too damned smart for these kinds of shenanigans—the both of you.” He seemed as pissed at Jake as he was at Amanda, though it wasn’t Jake’s ass about to burn.
The old man rapped his gavel and court was adjourned.
Chapter Eleven
Birches Soaked In Brine
Judge Dickerson’s chambers were filled—Garth, Jake, Pam, Amanda and May Kingston mingling awkwardly waiting for the Judge to settle in his chair.
“I leave this sentence up to you, Miss Plover,” he growled at last. “If you can take it, your trial will be over in less than an hour, if not, you’ll be shipped off to the county seat where you’ll serve your two months there. Not a pretty place, but perhaps you’d prefer it to taking down your jeans.”
“I’m sure, Judge, that I cannot afford the time in jail. Just do whatever you have to.”
“All right then,” he shifted in his seat and mumbled to himself as he drew a form from his desk and jotted down his final decision. Then he looked up at five pairs of waiting eyes, handing the formal decree to Garth. “Thirty cuts from a brine-soaked bundle of birches applied to Miss Plover’s bare buttocks. The witnesses in the room should suffice. You may administer it yourself or pick one of your deputies to do the damage. She’ll need to sign the waiver I’ve included here.”
The small gathering waited in stupefied silence for more, Amanda most significantly responding with her jaw dropping in awe of the Judge’s orders.
As far as the old man was concerned, the proceedings were over; and once Garth shook off the immediate shock, he took Amanda by the arm through the door and led her back to her cell. In his several years as County Sheriff, he’d never seen nor heard of such a severe sentence. The usual corporal punishment was a caning of five strokes, or perhaps a dozen from the old school paddle—these usually applied to some young cowboy who needed a little sobering. This was way beyond anyone’s expectations.
As Garth locked the bewildered blonde in her cell, he said, “I’m tapping Jimmy Clayton for this. Figure I’m too close to things to have any objectivity.”
“You think I deserve this much?” she wondered meekly.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m sure if you want to change your mind…”
“No. I’ll get through it.”
“Sure,” he looked at her glumly. “It will be about an hour before we have things ready. We do administer these in the old courthouse. It has a rail, and all.” Garth looked almost as despondent as Amanda. If she weren’t so sullen herself, his exceeding empathy might have been amusing, but she could hardly be amused when she was the subject of this lamentable rebuke.
Once Garth left, the penitent little delinquent brooded about the last twenty-four hours, wondering how in the hell she could have put herself in this miserable predicament. Thirty cuts from a bundle of brine-soaked birches. She shivered in fear of what that might mean. Her behind had taken a good deal of abuse f
rom Jake in the last two months, but he’d never given her anything like this—even when he was the most pissed. The only good thing about the whole ordeal was that he wasn’t going to deliver the cuts. She’d been afraid that the Judge might have thought that would be adequate justice. Thank the lord for small favors. It was bad enough that he’d be watching—scowling, snarling, gloating at her. What had he meant anyway—trying to save the stables? No one had yet explained that. As for Judge Dickerson’s edict that they patch up their differences, as far as she was concerned she was washing her hands of the whole matter—including, and especially, Jake Colton. She’d sell her share of Birch Valley, even the ranch house, and train horses elsewhere—or better yet move north, to her brother’s Montana ranch. He’d been bugging her to come up there for a couple of years. They’d never gotten along very well—Nathan was a control freak. But he couldn’t be any worse than Jake. She thought she loved him, really loved him. But now…
“Amanda.” She heard a soft whisper behind her and turned around to see Jake standing outside the bars.
“What do you want?” she asked coolly.
“To explain a few things.”
“Sorry, I’m not really up for it.”
“Seems you’re a captive audience,” he pointed out.
“Seems you could have some pity on the condemned and leave them alone in their hour of misery.”
“Is that what you want?”
“That’s exactly what I want.”
“You know, you could have come to me and asked.”
“I suppose I could have.” She turned a cold shoulder to him and he had no place to go with the conversation.
“I’ll leave you be. But you should know that I have no intention of selling the stables. A couple of our partners wanted to bow out and sell their shares; I was looking for more investors, better investors with less of an axe to grind. That’s all it was, Amanda.”
Just what she wanted to hear. Jake Colton coming off as her knight rescuer! “I’d like to be by myself,” she finally said.
“Sure.”
“But, mind you, Mandy, I’m not letting this drop here, no matter where your head’s at now.”
What the hell did that mean? she wondered, but she wouldn’t ask.
Time moved like a lazy old slug until Garth and May Kingston came to the cell to lead Amanda out.
“You’ll have to change into a prison dress,” May informed her. “I’m sure it will be less embarrassing than taking down your jeans.”
Amanda didn’t answer but followed the woman into a side room of the old courthouse, which connected to the new one through a short walkway. There she removed her clothes, panties and all, then threw the ugly, misshapen dress over her head. It was just as well there was no mirror; she probably looked ghastly, no makeup left (but then, who needs make-up when they’re going to the gallows?), her hair disheveled. The blue prison dress and her bare feet made her look and feel meek. And the handcuffs that May Kingston found necessary truly made her feel like a criminal. If it was the Judge’s intention to humble her, he’d certainly done a good job. Ready as she’d ever be, the remorseful beauty was led out the door and down a narrow hallway.
Once entering the tiny courtroom, Amanda’s shivers began in earnest as the reality of her punishment hit her like river rock. Looked like a communion rail in front of the old Judge’s bench. And though there were only a handful of witnesses in the room, the stone walls seemed to close in around them making her think for just a moment that she was in a crowded, brawling courtroom of a century ago. To the side of the rail was a two-foot high earthenware crock in which she could see a large bundle of birches sticking out from the opening—obviously, they were soaking in brine. She didn’t even want to think of how they’d sting.
Staring up, her eyes focused briefly on her audience, Pam, Garth and, of course, Jake. He was expressionless. I’ll bet he could have stopped this, she said to herself. But, of course, he wouldn’t. He believed in old-fashioned justice like the rest of the tiny community—and apparently, she did as well—after all, here she was. Could have stopped it herself.
Trembling so nervously that her legs could hardly move, she was given a gentle shove and propelled forward by the force of May’s hand behind her. She was facing Jimmy Clayton as she walked toward the rail. He looked pretty damn official in his uniform tan slacks and shirt—tight fit, proud chest, military buzz-cut, at least six feet tall. He got out of the Marines just a year ago and looked every bit as if he were still ready for combat. He could have been a good-looking guy if he weren’t so severe; and he looked especially so right now. He nodded to her, but didn’t say a word. And once taking the keys to her handcuffs from May took over the remainder of the proceedings.
Amanda massaged her hands and wrists once they were freed. The cuffs had fit so tightly that she could see circles imprinted in her flesh where the metal rubbed.
“Over the bar, Miss Plover,” Jimmy said in a low growling voice. Oh, if there were only some kind of sexual pleasure she could derive from this, the way she found her whippings from Jake; but she couldn’t even fathom her bottom turning into a sensuous fire of heat, and her pussy suddenly charged with desire. This was pure hell, and would be from start to finish.
Draping herself over the polished wooden rail, Amanda noted that someone had conveniently affixed a lower bar to the back of the apparatus, so she would have something to steady herself once the punishment began. That should have been enough to keep her poised; but then, quite unexpectedly, she found the deputy bending down to her ankles and strapping her feet in place two feet apart. Oh, yes, this was a fine situation—minimizing the opportunity to dance away the physical grief. She’d just have to remain stoically in place and take it. Feeling miserably immobile, her agony only increased with each indignity she was required to endure. When Jimmy finally lifted the hem of her dress, she realized the awful truth about the pose—not only was her ass blatantly bared, but without her legs pressed together as they might have been, the pouch of her sex was clearly visible to the audience behind her. Her shame could not have been greater.
Looking to the side, she saw Jimmy moving for the crock of birches. And her amazement continued as she watched in horror, seeing the deputy remove one of two thick bundles of slender sapling branches from the water. She could smell the vinegary brew as the pungent aroma stung her nostrils. How these would rip her behind!
“Thirty, Miss,” Jimmy announced, and with no more fanfare than that, he stepped back, and began with the broad sweeping motion of his arm. Packing muscle in his blows, he delivered the first painful burst of strikes. Amanda gasped for air as her body finally understood the kind of awesome pain this punishment would bring. He’d only laid on five and the sting was misery.
Having paused after these first ones, Jimmy and the audience of three could see tiny red lines begin to rise on the tawny tan of Amanda’s bottom. Then stepping into the task again, the deputy rained another swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of birches, ten this time, Amanda panting, mewing and struggling to ignore the burst of fire that her ass became.
“Oh, no, I can’t,” she finally moaned in a tearful plea.
Her tormentor didn’t see it that way. Not moved to compassion in the slightest, he returned to the pot of brine, soaking the birches to renew their impact. Then taking position again, he started in a third time, laying cut after cut of his bundle on her skin. By then, it was more than just red lines appearing on her flesh. In several places welts were rising on the surface, and in other spots, her skin was torn enough, not to bleed, but so that the brine could work its brutish bite deep into the wounded flesh. Everywhere her ass burned, outside and inside, the pain penetrating beyond just flesh going deeply into her mind.
She was beside herself in agony, moving gracelessly, as best she could to avert the strikes; but that was so impossible that her efforts looked pitiful. Taking a woman of such pride and arrogance to this level was truly amazing. Everyone present—including the stoic
and old-fashioned Jake Colton was amazed.
Twenty-five done, just five remained. For these, Jimmy Clayton returned to the earthen crock. Having tossed aside the slightly battered bundle, he reached for the fresh one. Amanda couldn’t help but peek, seeing the birches dripping as Jimmy pulled them from the crock. Her misery went deeper still. Her skin still stung and he was going to lay on more? Fear supplanting everything, she closed her eyes and held on with every nerve in her small frame tensed.
“Yeeeeeeawwww!” her cry roared above the silence as the next strike seared another path of pain across her tortured flesh. The rash of welts produced by these last cuts would certainly remain for days.
When the next cut ripped, Amanda howled again, as her body attempted to effect some mutiny. But this wasn’t possible with her feet tied, and she could hardly pry her fingers from the bar she clutched so tightly. As she calmed, she tensed again, waiting for the next strike. For this one, the brawny deputy reared back as fiercely as he had so far; and as though the incredible tension in the room were just too much for anyone to bear a second longer, he didn’t pause, but finished off Amanda’s thirty swiftly, laying three strikes across the tender middle of her blistered behind.
With a heavy sigh, she slumped on top of the rail, finally allowing tears to flow. She couldn’t imagine anything as ghastly as those seconds, with all eyes locked on her pitiful rear, no one moving, the air humid, thick with anguish and an intolerable electricity no one seemed to understand.
Jimmy moved first, tossing the birches back in their brine; then crouched low to free Amanda’s ankles. With May helping the diminished young woman to her feet, the ugly dress fell over Amanda’s ass and she was led from the room.
The most painful part of the next fifteen minutes was getting dressed. Pouring herself into her tight blue jeans seemed an impossible task, but she had no choice with no other clothes available. Finally, making herself presentable, Amanda slipped out through the Sheriff’s office with a nod to Garth expecting to move toward her battered truck and a little freedom.
Birches, Cowgirls & Angels Page 12