Walnut Bottom Farm, Books 1 & 2 Page 3

  “I'm sure of it.”

  CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, the belt took on a slower but steady rhythm. Calla and Lexi listened, both with wide eyes and hands over their mouths.

  “Brenda, I hope you recall this every time you put flowers in your expensive vase. I won’t tolerate sneaking and lies.”

  CRACK, CRACK, CRACK... the belt swung on with clock-like rhythm, pausing occasionally for Ben to reiterate the lesson.

  To Calla, Lexi, and undoubtedly to Brenda, those five minutes felt like an eternity. Brenda's pillow wasn't doing a good job of containing her lusty cries.

  Finally, it stopped. Brenda continued sobbing.

  “Now go wash your face and get some tissues. Then I want you to stand in that corner, quietly, and compose yourself.”

  "Come on, Calla. Let's go. We have to get back and get ready."

  "No way. I think we should tell someone."

  "Hell no! I'm not even going to attempt explaining this to anyone."

  Brenda sobbed and blew her nose and cried some more into her corner while the two women argued in whispers until...

  “Brenda, go and find your wooden hairbrush.”

  "What? Is he really going to punish her more?"

  "Shh!"

  “Over my knee this time, honey.”

  Calla and Lexi couldn't see Brenda's welted, crimson bottom, striped from the top of its cleft to the middle of her thighs. They couldn't see Brenda come to her husband, brush in one hand and soggy pillow in the other, and stand between his legs, hand him the brush and lay herself over his left thigh bracing the pillow and her upper body on the bed, as his left hand and forearm secured her back and his right leg locked down the backs of her knees. Then they heard him speak again.

  “Brenda, I really hate to do this, but I warned you to stay in position. And you know that if you stall, argue, fight, or get out of position before or during discipline that you will be disciplined again for that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir, I do know that. It just hurt so much, I couldn’t help it.”

  “Yes, you could. It’s called respect and self-control, and that is the point.”

  “I don't want spanked again. Please don't.”

  “Could you have prevented this and is it fair?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We talked about this before we even got married. We are not going to have a marriage of fighting, bickering, lying, sneaking and craziness. I won't sit by like a lump while our family goes to pot and becomes like another depraved reality show. I always respect you and listen to what you have to say. We make decisions together. When you bought that vase you usurped my authority, when you hid it and failed to tell me about it that was the same as lying. I hate having to punish you, but when I must, I will accept nothing less than complete cooperation. I’d rather be fishing. This is for not staying in position.”

  He hadn't gotten the last word out before a long, high-pitched whine rose up to be silenced by the solid slap of the hairbrush he was using as a paddle. He paddled her fast and furiously for what again seemed to be an eternity, but was just a minute or two. Brenda sounded as if she were being skinned alive at first, but had settled into muffled, sloppy sobs by the time he stopped.

  “There, there, baby. It's all over. I'm sure you'll feel it for a while, but the worst is done.”

  Soft soothing sounds from Ben, with quiet crying and nose blowing from Brenda, replaced the clamorous sounds of the spanking for a bit.

  “Thank you, Ben. I'm so sorry. I've been sorry since I did it and I'm so glad to put it behind us,” she said, still speaking through snot and tears.

  “No more sorries, love. I forgive you.”

  “Oh, Ben! You are so wonderful and wise. As strict as you are at times, I'm still glad to be your wife. Let me make it up to you a little...” Zzzziiiip.

  "Did you hear THAT?"

  "Yeah, we listened to a man spank his wife and now we're eavesdropping on a blowjob. We have got to go!"

  "She THANKED him, for SPANKING her!"

  "So what? Most couples would have fought about that stupid vase for years. Not to mention getting even by buying new gulf clubs and hiding money and treating each other like a ball and chain until they went into overtime in divorce court. Who are we to say what a healthy marriage looks like for two people we don't even know? Why do you think I'm still single?"

  "Lexi! I can't believe YOU of all people could condone this!"

  Lexi laughed, "Oh, Calla. Nothing about love or human relationships isn't strange, mysterious and illogical. Besides, I can think of a few women that might benefit from a good spanking now and again. I wonder if that's why women generally have such well cushioned posteriors that men seem programed to give a smack if they think they can get away with it." Lexi giggled devilishly. "And I'd bet Brenda wasn't the first woman ever spanked at this old inn. I bet a few petticoats were flung up back in the day!"

  "Wow! I've died and gone back to 1812."

  "Stop being dramatic. Those two will probably spend the rest of their trip like a second honeymoon with all the making up. We have to go saddle up for a trail ride. We're late."

  "Saddle up? My ass is having sympathy pains for Brenda!"

  Chapter 4

  Trails and Tales

  It was ten of eleven when Lexi's red sports car rolled up to the barn in a cloud of dust. The rest of the trail party was milling about with the saddled horses while they waited for the stragglers.

  Bruce spoke first, "Everything is ready. All you will need is in the saddlebag, including your lunch. Are you girls ready?"

  "I guess we are. Does the horse know what to do?" Lexi asked nervously.

  After a quick lesson on the basics of horseback riding and the reassurance that the stable mares would be calm and easy to ride, Bruce helped the girls up. Then Grace, Bud, Clayton, and Bruce mounted up and Bud and Grace led the way to the old trail.

  It was another beautiful day. As they went into the woods it felt as if they had entered a different world. A welcomed cool breeze blew gently through the tunnel of trees. The singing of birds and insects surrounded them. Colorful butterflies and honey bees flitted about visiting demure little woodland flowers. The sun's rays shined through the leaves in patches of gold. Most of the trail was ridden in silence, each rider enchanted by the forest and lost in his or her own thoughts. Clayton and Lexi rode side by side and stole glances at one another, occasionally making conversation. Though the other riders secretly strained to hear what was being said, the wind and bird song swallowed up the words.

  "What on earth made that?" Lexi was looking down at a large pile of scat at the side of the trail.

  "Just a black bear," Clayton answered.

  "How can you tell what color it was by looking at its poop?"

  Surprisingly, everyone was embarrassed for her and politely, if not effectively, tried not to laugh. Suddenly realizing her own dim-wittedness she bubbled with silly and contagious laughter and the others joined in.

  Once everyone caught their breath and wiped the wee tears from the corners of their eyes Lexi made another confession. "As long as I am impressing you all with all my wilderness prowess, how do I find a ladies room and how do I not pee on my feet?"

  The men grinned at their saddle horns as Calla giggled, "I can show you how, sister."

  To herself, but just loud enough to be heard, Grace said, "Wow, she does possess a practical skill."

  Bruce gritted his teeth as he dismounted to help Calla get down. But she had already helped herself, nearly falling in hot faced anger, and was trying to help Lexi down.

  Suddenly aware of the effect of her remark, Grace found a smidge of humility and attempted to restore the previous jovial mood, "I believe I may be too late, that bear may have scared it out of me, laughing like that at my age."

  "Let me help you down, Grace," Bud offered with a sweet smile, but stony eyes.

  The men took turns while two stayed with the horses. The ladies went as deep off trail as they nee
ded to find privacy in patches of the underbrush. On her way back, Grace was bumped into by Bud, deliberately on his part.

  "Grace, I feel I must say something to you that you may not like. Just know I'm only saying it because I think it may be more harmful not to, than to worry about upsetting you. And I think if your husband, my friend, were still with us he'd have spoken to you himself about this much sooner. Grace, you are behaving very catty towards your daughter-in-law, not showing any respect for what she does do and tearing her up for what she can't. Now, shh, don't interrupt me, I'm not finished. I know there are two sides to every tale, but you are older, wiser, and should have a little more patience. You need to find a new approach to bond with that young lady. It is causing tension in your son's marriage and that young woman may give you grandchildren one day. You need to get along. Remember, you were her age once, and not so altogether different."

  "No one asked. This isn't your concern and I’d rather not discuss it right now," was her curt reply.

  “I apologize. Later, then." Bud's reply sounded sincere and unmiffed by Grace's sharpness, so she bit back the 'try never' that was at the tip of her tongue. How could he understand anyway? His son didn't marry a city girl artist that paints pictures of farms she'd have no idea how to live on, and can't even gather an egg, much less cook one. And with so much to do, she'd rather work at the Brass Lantern until late and sleep in 'til nine or ten instead of helping me with a few chores.

  Mentally reviewing the litany of charges she held against Calla as she made on her way back to the horses, Grace was oblivious to the sneer on her face until Bruce asked, "Everything okay, Mom?"

  "Just fine. I ate an unripe berry. Left a bitter taste."

  The ride returned to its steady ramble up and over the ridge. The scenery was glorious. At an outcropping of rocks the whole valley spread out below them. The rolling mounds of earth and forest, laced with silver streams spilled into a lush, emerald carpet. It was like looking down at Eden. It would have been a great place to picnic, but the horses needed water.

  Grace pointed to a grove of pines. "The trail crosses the stream there. We'll be there in half an hour and we can rest the horses."

  Bud spoke up, "Why, Grace, isn't that near the swimming hole where you celebrated your twenty-third birthday?"

  There was that red-faced silence again. Acting as if she hadn't heard a word, she nudged her horse to get a move on. The horse betrayed her feigned composure, jolting to a start and nearly tossing the dignified Mrs. Cowen on her rump. Calla and Lexi exchanged perplexed grins as they descended down the switchback.

  As they entered the hemlocks they were wrapped in stream-cooled, fresh air. The aromas of pine, moss and dewy flowers smelled slightly astringent, but sweet and clean. It reminded Lexi of the scent of a spa where she once spent a weekend with Calla.

  As the horses were drinking, the men went about unburdening them of some of the contents of the saddlebags. The horses were treated with carrots and oats and safely tethered; everyone gathered the bagged lunches.

  Bud carried a blanket. "Follow me." He led them around a bend in the stream and came to an expansive flat grey rock. It was nearly waist high and well shaded about ten feet from the bank. The slab stretched nearly eight feet wide and six feet into the stream like a stone dock. "We called it the rock dock. The water is usually well over your head when you jump off the end. Perfect place to escape the heat on a hot day, right Gracie?"

  "I guess you could say that." Grace wasn't up to reminiscing and busied herself spreading out lunch on the blanket. "Darn! I forgot to pack napkins! How could I forget napkins?"

  "Don't worry Gracie, we can use the paper bags and wash up in the stream if we get too messy. It isn't the end of the world. This is such a delicious lunch I wouldn't care if I had to use my sleeve for a napkin. You shouldn't have gone to such trouble." Bud tried to smooth out her ruffled feathers.

  "Thanks, Bud. It was really no trouble, though it would have been easier to throw together if I'd had an extra hand or two." The words were spoken stiffly and without making eye contact with either Lexi or Calla.

  "I ASKED you if I could help you!" Calla snapped.

  Lexi, seeing her friend on the brink of an eruption, quickly interrupted and put a gentle hand on her knee, trying to silently calm her. "I apologize, Mrs. Cowen. I needed to send a fax and kidnapped Calla for breakfast. We should have stayed to lend a hand."

  "Oh, shut it, Lex. She wouldn't have let us help anyway. We would have spread mayonnaise in the wrong direction and ruined everything." Calla couldn't take another dig from her mother-in-law and would rather just have it out, then and there.

  Clayton disarmed the bomb as quickly as the fuse was lit. He chuckled warmly and said, "My mother is the same way in her kitchen. Cooking is her art; the kitchen is her territory. She'll call me to fix her oven, but won’t let me make a sandwich. Hey! Is that a peach pie?"

  "Yes, I just made it this morning. Using up the rest of last year's frozen peaches. It's soon time to pick this year's crop." Grace smiled proudly at her picture perfect, lattice crusted pie.

  Bud noticed Calla's head hang, looking at her sandwich. "Ever pick peaches, Calla?"

  "No, I haven't. Is there some kind of trick to it or something? "

  "Not so much a trick, but it's a discipline."

  "Picking fruit? A discipline?"

  "You see, if peaches weren't as juicy, sweet and delicious as they are, people would sooner let them rot on the tree. If they even tasted only as good as an apple, folks still wouldn't fool with them unless they were starving." As Bud began his primer on peaches, Grace lifted her chin and nodded in satisfied agreement. He continued, "It's always the hottest days of summer when it's time for peaches. The kind of days you'd rather swim or hide indoors. And within minutes, the leaves on peach trees and the peach fuzz makes most folks itch and burn like they've rolled in nettles, so you have to wear long sleeves and pants and gloves. Most farm kids would rather be in school during peach season." Everyone laughed and those who knew, nodded emphatically. "Grace, do you remember your first peach season in Walnut Bottom? You weren't a kid, but I remember you getting fed up with peaches. "

  "Bud, that was a long time ago. Here, have a piece of pie."

  "If you would have known Grace then, you would never believe she'd ever learn to make a peach pie. The peaches were ripe and storms were coming later in the week. Every able body was drafted to get the crop in and get to canning and making jam and such. Poor Grace slaved away like a trooper for a whole hour in her short sleeve shirt and short pants, until she got to scratching and screeching like a cat, ran home, showered and hid in her room the rest of the day, in front of a fan, with a novel. Same thing the next day. Old Mr. Cowen felt pity on her and suggested that since she was no help in the harvest, maybe she could help Granny make jam. She'd never done it before, but Granny was patient and could teach her. Besides, the poor old thing could use a hand anyway, but wouldn't ask."

  "That's enough, Bud," Grace interrupted. “I believe this story is about to become inappropriate for present company, as well as embarrassing."

  "Oh, Grace, I think this story is quite appropriate for present company. As for embarrassing, we all are embarrassed from time to time. Ya take it in stride and move on. Ask Calla, the water rocket here.” This time everyone laughed, except Grace. “Anyway, back to the story... The next day was Grace's birthday and she had no intention of spending it in Granny Cowen's hot kitchen. She woke the next morning to a big birthday breakfast in bed that her slave-driving husband got up early to make. Then she got ready, packed her ‘supplies’ and saddled up, just as sweet as Little Red Riding Hood. Off she went to Granny's, or so everyone thought.”

  Grace was now more red-faced than a clown’s nose as Bud's story went on, “When she wasn't home for supper, and her little surprise party, William and I went looking for her. She never showed at Granny's so you can imagine how worried we all were. Eventually, we found her on this very rock, slee
ping off a bottle of cherry wine she had smuggled from the cellar. She was out on the end in the sun, lying on a quilt, naked as a jaybird, next to an empty bottle, some snack crackers and a paperback.”

  Grace, now hiding under a hat that she, ironically, used to shield the sun, didn’t even look up at the laughing faces on that very rock.

  Bud continued, "Bill said, 'Thanks, I can take it from here. Go on ahead and let everyone know she's okay and we'll be along in a bit'. I turned my horse to go and Bill began to unbuckle his belt before he had even dismounted. I swear I heard that woman screaming the whole way back up the ridge. When they finally rode in, no one ever saw a sadder sack of misery in a saddle than Gracie Cowen. She inched upstairs in her riding breeches and after a bit came back down in a dressing gown. She was sullen and sorry and apologized to everyone. Then old Granny Cowen, always knowing just what to say, tells her, 'Now, now sweetheart. All's forgiven. And since ya done got yer birthday spanking, you might as well eat cake.' Even Gracie laughed, and cried a little at the same time."

  Lexi and Calla had the same wide, disbelieving eyes they did earlier while eavesdropping on the Brass Lantern Inn couple. Bruce did too, his mouth hanging open like an airplane hangar. Clayton grinned knowingly.

  Then Grace lifted her head. She was smiling with tears streaming down her cheeks. No one knew what to say or think. She blew her nose inelegantly with a brown paper bag and dried her eyes with the inside of her blouse, cleared her throat and said, "That's a bittersweet memory for me. I didn't sit for a week, but I realized that day that I did belong to this family and they loved me. The next day Granny Cowen taught me how to make a peach pie. Now, can we eat pie or would you all like to see if Bud can embarrass me further with more of his reminiscences?"

  Clayton spoke up softly, "Don't be embarrassed, ma’am. My daddy is a good and kind man, but he runs a tight ship. He didn't hesitate to take any of us on a walk to the woodshed if he thought it was due. And I happen to know that included Mama. I'd love some pie."