Against the Wind

by April Hill

  She turned around, still straightening her skirts. “I doubt that. My bottom is positively ablaze. And I have one question of my own, before I accept your proposal, if I accept your proposal, that is. When I am finally your loving and obedient wife, do you still intend to spank me at will?”

  “My dear Emily,” he said, puling her into his arms. “I have a strong feeling that you’ll find wifely obedience no easier than shipboard obedience. And that your bottom may require frequent correction for years to come. Perhaps well into our golden years. Those, however, are my terms, and they’re not negotiable. The Scriptures do say that to spare the rod is to spoil the wife, after all.”

  Emily laughed. “They say no such thing, Ethan McAllister!” she scolded. “ What is it that I am to get out of this arrangement, besides a consistently sore backside?”

  Ethan kissed her.

  “You shall have my eternal love and respect, my protection, and as much laughter I can provide you. As a very poor beginning, you will have all my worldly goods, and all that I ever hope to have as long as I live, and a comfortable home and children, of course. In very short order, in fact, I intend to impregnate you with at least three sturdy boys, and as many robust girls.”

  “That is six children, Ethan! I will be constantly with child!”

  “True, but when I am at sea, that will allow you considerably less time to get yourself into mischief. Besides, my dear Mother still lights candles every week, in every church in the city of Philadelphia, praying for grandchildren. You and she will get along beautifully, once you’ve produced a male heir.”

  “She doesn’t like girls?”

  “She’ll tolerate them, but if you really wish to be on her good side, boys would serve better.”

  “She sounds like a very determined lady,” Emily said. “When will I meet her?”

  “As soon as we land in Boston, but I remind you again that your duties are cut out for you. We’ll have no peace until the first boy pops out. I’m afraid I may have to keep you in bed for weeks on end until the deed is accomplished.”

  Emily smiled. “I can imagine many worse things, Captain McAllister. There are several pages in the Kama Sutra we have not yet thoroughly explored, if I remember correctly.”

  That night, after Ethan had returned to the ship, Emily went to bed in the same great, canopied four-poster in which she had been born. Unable to sleep, she lay in the familiar silence of the room where she had spent every night of her life before the fateful trip to Halifax, pondering the events of the last few months.

  By morning, she’d made the difficult decision that a marriage to Ethan McAllister was impossible.

  Rising before dawn, she sat at her writing desk and stared for a long time into the garden, then began to compose a letter to him, explaining her reasons. Two hours later, with the letter on its way by messenger to the Liza, Emily took a carriage to the far end of the island, to the home of her uncle Horace, where she planned to remain until Ethan had sailed for Boston.

  When she had no word back from him, Emily spent the next three weeks on her uncle’s terrace, pretending to read, but actually watching the long drive that led from the main road to the house. In rereading her letter, Emily found that it made no more sense to her then than when she first wrote it. Dismayed by Ethan’s silence and his apparent indifference to her rejection, she longed to write to him and apologize for her silliness. But her pride was too strong.

  At the end of June, she returned to Nantucket, where she found that after a short but intense courtship, Chastity and John Turner had announced their engagement. The wedding was to take place in the late fall, and the house was alive with excitement. Emily’s own harrowing adventure at sea was almost forgotten in the flurry of planning and shopping for the glorious event, and the move to John’s home in Charleston. At not quite seventeen, Emily’s younger sister would have happiness and a handsome and devoted husband, while Emily would not.

  Emily threw herself into the preparations with what enthusiasm she could muster, and made a short trip to Boston with Chastity and Naomi to order the wedding gown and trousseau. One afternoon, leaving the others at the hotel napping, Emily hired a carriage and directed the driver to the address where she knew Ethan was building his home. Upon arriving, she again checked the address. The house, newly complete, was for sale.

  Lonelier than ever at being in the midst of Chastity’s happiness, and reluctant to damage that happiness with her own sorrow, Emily returned to Nantucket alone. In a letter from John to Chastity, she learned that Ethan had sailed for San Francisco the week previously, on a voyage expected to take six months.

  Unbeknownst to Mr.Turner, however, or even to the captain himself until five days prior to the scheduled departure, Ethan had decided not sail to San Francisco, a sudden decision that had brought down upon his handsome head the fury of the ship’s owners. It had also resulted in a fairly significant demotion, and the loss of a great deal of money. Etahn had no intention of leaving until his affairs were in order, and the most important part of his “affairs” was still in Nantucket, behaving like a spoiled brat.

  So, as the captain made his way to the Fowler home from the dock at Nantucket that lovely early summer afternoon, after mooring his ship in the harbor, his temper was growing steadily worse. He crossed Union Street diagonally, ignoring the several carriages that had to stop quickly as he cut in front of them. None of the carriages’ occupants however, chose to complain to the tall sea captain about his rudeness. His impatience and ill-temper were abundantly clear in grim expression and in his determined stride.

  The Fowler residence sat on the corner of Union Street, looking toward the harbor, and had Emily herself been looking out an upper window, she could have even seen the Liza lying at anchor, there. She might also have seen, and possibly avoided, the Liza’s infuriated master, who had paused for a moment in front of a neighboring home to pull down the branch of a gracious old white birch. Having selected two sturdy switches from the tree, he broke them off to the desired length and tested their suppleness and weight against the side of his tall boot before proceeding down the street. As he walked, he stripped the excess leaves from the thick switches, and three doors on, opened the gate to the Fowler home and knocked on the front door. Tabitha Perkins opened the door, and greeted him warmly.

  “Captain McAllister! How nice to see you again! We had not expected you. Please, come in!”

  McAllister made a perfunctory bow. “Thank you, Miss Perkins. Is Emily at home?”

  “Yes, indeed, she is! She and the other children are in the parlor! Shall I announce you?”

  Ethan smiled pleasantly. “No thank you,” he said. “That won’t be necessary. Are the Reverend and Mrs. Fowler at home, as well?”

  “No, sir. They’re out for the entire day. They’ll be so unhappy to have missed you!” The captain was somewhat relieved at this information, suspecting that the good Quaker couple might disapprove of what he had in mind for their elder daughter in the next few minutes. On the other hand, he mused, they might well be delighted.

  Tabitha took his coat, and McAllister walked toward the parlor, where he could hear Caleb’s laughter.

  Emily and Chastity were standing by the fireplace with their backs to him, chatting, while Caleb and another boy of the same age were seated on the floor, playing with a deck of cards. As he entered the room, Emily turned her head, and blanched. Caleb leapt up, shouting with delight.

  “Captain, sir! We thought you were at sea!”

  “My plans were changed, Caleb. But, we’ll talk a bit later, if that’s all right? Right now, your sister and I have a matter to discuss.”

  “Yes sir, “Caleb said. “You have to tell me about where you’ve been since we saw you last!”

  Ethan nodded, walked directly to Emily and took her by the hand, then started toward the French doors that led to the garden.

  “If you’ll be kind enough to excuse us for a few moments, Chastity,” he said, without waiting for an ans
wer. “Emily and I need a few moments alone.”

  Chastity seemed confused, but the look on Ethan’s face did not encourage further comment.

  “Of course, Ethan.”

  With little choice, Emily allowed herself to be led, or half-dragged, through the yard, stumbling over her skirts to keep pace with his long stride. Ethan was in a hurry, and Emily was afraid she knew why. The switches in his hand had not escaped her notice. She had seen them the moment he came through the door.

  “Ethan,” she began.

  “Be quiet!” he ordered, opening the door to the small glassed-in summerhouse at the back of the garden. He slammed the door behind them, and before Emily could make the excellent arguments she had been rehearsing for close to a month, McAllister had taken her by her upper arms, and forced her to face him.

  “Your letter said that you didn’t love me. Was that true?”

  Emily shook her head. “No.”

  “And that you couldn’t endure being married to a man whose ‘social status’ and income didn’t equal your family’s. Was that true?”

  Emily shook her head again.

  “And that marriage to me would bore you. Is that true?”

  Emily began to weep. “Oh, God, no, Ethan! Of course it wasn’t true! Any of it!”

  He threw up his hands in frustration. “Then, why in the name of all that’s holy would you write such a thing?”

  When she said nothing comprehensible, McAllister turned her around, lifted her skirt, and ripped open the back of her drawers.

  “Stand there and hold your dress up, and I swear to God that if you take one step from that spot, I’m going to take the damned hide off your backside. Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” she moaned. “I’m sorry I lied, Ethan! Honestly, I am. It was just that–ow!” The first blow from the doubled switches slashed across both buttocks, leaving a bright red trail and a distinct pair of rising welts. The next four strokes fell so rapidly, and in almost the same place that she could barely get one yelp out before the next was on her lips.

  The switches landed relentlessly, each cut making a dull thwack that was instantly followed by an involuntary yowl from the victim. Trying to obey his instruction not to move, Emily bobbed up and down on her toes, moving her burning bottom from side to side and tensing her striped cheeks to ward off the relentless rain of blows. Ethan lowered his aim to lay a half-dozen strokes in the exquisitely tender area between thigh and buttock, and as he worked, he described in detail what waited for her the next time.

  “If you ever,” Thwack! “Do anything remotely as stupid as this again..” Thwack, thwack, Thwack thwack, thwack, “I am going to blister your ass,” Thwack, thwack, “into one endless welt!” Emily wailed, and put both hands down to defend the assaulted area. Ethan took her elbow and held her firmly in place while he continued to criss-cross her thighs and calves. Even through her stockings, the switches stung like fire.

  Suddenly, the first well-used implement broke in the middle, and the upper part flew across the summerhouse. Without losing his rhythm, McAllister tossed down the stub of the second switch, swept Emily across his thigh and under his left arm and continued spanking with his strong right hand.

  When he let her up, finally, he was out of breath, and red in the face. His arm was tired and his shoulder ached. The captain sighed to himself. He was getting too old for this kind of thing. If Emily didn’t learn soon, he mused, it might become necessary to hire a spanking master, if there were such a thing.

  “Now, when the blazes do you want to be married?” he demanded, rubbing his sore hand on his pant leg to bring back the circulation. “And the whole thing had better be cheap, damn it! I’ve lost a half-years’ profit because of your nonsense!”

  When they returned to the house, Chastity was nowhere in sight, but Caleb was on the sofa, reading a book. He watched his sister carefully as she moved silently and stiffly about the room, collecting her things. Slowly, a sly smile spread across his face.

  “Did you get a licking?” he grinned. “A really good one? Like Captain McAllister said he was going to when we were on the Liza?”

  Emily threw a cushion at him. “Shut up, Caleb!”

  “Did you do it, Captain?” he whooped joyfully. “Is that why she was hollering so loud?” he demanded, bouncing up and down on the sofa. “Did you give it to her really good?”

  Emily looked at her brother coldly. “Caleb, you little pig, I’m warning you! If you don’t stop it this minute, I’m going to cut your rotten, scrawny throat from ear to ear! And bury your stinking little corpse in the garden, under Mother’s hollyhocks!”

  Ethan calmly placed the cushion back on the sofa, and spoke to Caleb.

  “Your sister merely fell while we were outside, Caleb, and hurt her knee painfully.”

  For a moment, the boy looked at McAllister with open suspicion, weighing his hero’s word against the evidence of his own sharp, young eyes.

  “I don’t believe either of you!” he cried. “You gave her a licking! Good for you! She’s had it coming for years! “

  Caleb stuck out his tongue, crawled across the back of the sofa and bolted up the stairs, howling with laughter. Emily stood in the middle of the parlor and shrieked after him.

  “You’re a filthy, disgusting little fiend, Caleb Fowler! I hate you!”

  McAllister sighed. “Another Fowler in need of a thorough switching, I’d say.”

  As he turned back to Emily, Ethan suddenly noticed something about her that gave him pause. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

  “Tell me something, my love. Has something about you that was supposed to happen, not happened?”

  Emily stared. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Emily,” he asked, his face flushing, “Since we returned from the voyage, have you…Have you experienced your monthly…”

  “Ethan!” she cried. “How can you ask me such a terribly personal thing? I have never discussed things like…”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “Well, my darling, it may be time to discuss it with somebody. Have you, or have you not?”

  “No, I haven’t.” She hissed.

  “Emily,” he continued patiently, “Do you know where, and how, babies come about?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “Of course, I know. Well, most of it, anyway.”

  Ethan smiled. “Unless I am very much mistaken, sweetheart, we will be well-advised to have this wedding as soon as possible.”

  Emily looked at him with horror.

  “I can’t, Ethan! I simply can’t! Nothing has really changed! I do love you! You know that! But I will simply not be accused of trapping a man into marrying me, or being forced into it for the same reason! That’s what everyone will think, if we marry now!”

  “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks, Emily!”

  “I do!” she wailed. “No one on this island thought I’d ever find a man foolish enough to marry me, and to be married this way, and now…”

  She ran from the house and back into the garden. When he followed her, Emily hid herself in the stable and sat there until it was nearly dark, thinking.

  Finally, damp and stiff, she got up and started back to the house. As she passed the small stable where the family’s two carriage horses and Caleb’s pony were kept, Emily stepped into the darkened tack room and took a black leather riding crop from its hook, then continued toward the house. A light in the library window told her that Ethan was still there, waiting for her to return.

  Inside, the Fowler home was quiet, with the Reverend and Mrs. Fowler still out for the day and Caleb at the back of the house somewhere with Tabitha. She could hear the two of them talking and laughing. In the lower hallway, the soft ticking of the tall clock in the hallway told her it was almost six. With a sigh, she went up the stairs to the second-floor library.

  She opened the door to the library and found Ethan standing by the French windows, looking out over the garden. When she entered, he turned and
watched silently as she came nearer.

  Emily walked up to where he stood and stood in front of him, her eyes looking downward.

  “I was wrong,” she said simply. “I know that, and I’m sorry. Please marry me.” She closed her eyes and handed him the riding crop.

  Ethan took the crop and looked at it carefully as though studying its workmanship. He tapped it experimentally against his palm, feeling its weight.

  “I believe it’s something land-lubbers use,” she said quietly, “When necessary.”

  Ethan smiled. “With stubborn animals?”

  “Yes. And with stupid, disobedient, ungrateful ones, as well.”

  “This hardly seems the sort of implement your father, of all people, would use on his animals,” McAllister observed mildly.

  “He never has,” Emily sighed. “Which probably explains why his horses are the most poorly behaved on the island.”

  “You father is a very kind man,” McAllister said.

  “With very vexing horses, that go up and down any street they wish, and cause absolute chaos in the village.”

  “And you believe that this instrument will correct such bad habits?”

  She nodded miserably. “Used properly, I imagine an improvement will be noticed, yes.”

  He slapped the palm of his hand, and winced.

  “Very well. Perhaps we should try it,” he said. Emily turned around and lifted her skirts, then leaned across the arm of a large winged chair and reached back to open her drawers.

  A moment later, the crop slashed across the full, soft mound of her buttocks with a sharp crack and a fiery sting. Emily yelped, and stuck her fist in her mouth.

  Ethan tossed the crop on the chair next to her. “Too noisy,” he said with a sigh. He sat down on the same chair, reached across, and with one finger, traced the slender red welt the crop had left. “Still, it leaves a truly impressive mark. For God’s sake, darling, get up from there! What will your mother think if she should come in?”