Storiesonline.net
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                           MacKenzie's Journal
                             by E. Z. Riter

Copyright© 2003 by E. Z. Riter


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Description: In South Carolina in 1839, Robert James MacKenzie was a strapping lad of sixteen who today became betrothed to a beautiful young woman and received the gift of two slave girls. In the blink of an eye, he became a man.       

Codes: MF Mult hist cons non-con inc mother sis dau het D/S Mdom span lght humil group interr BF WM
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Chapter 1: The Journey


In early Spring of the year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Thirty-Nine, I, Robert James MacKenzie, was a strapping lad of sixteen, not fully grown at six feet in height and with the red-topped, raw-boned strength of my ancestors. My father, Robert Bruce MacKenzie, my sister, Elizabeth, who was thirteen, and I lived at Ironwood. My mother, may God rest her soul, departed for her eternal reward in 1827.

Ironwood lay on the flat plains in western South Carolina abutting the Savannah River. It was primarily a cotton and tobacco plantation, but we grew a variety of crops including corn, wheat, barley, and other grains. We had a large garden for our vegetables, an orchard of fruit and nut trees, and cattle, sheep, swine, and poultry for meat and by-products. More than a simple farm, Ironwood was a community producing nearly everything we needed. Houses were built, clothes made, plows mended, horses shod. Unlike some plantations whose owners were less enterprising than my father and grandfather, Ironwood had its own blacksmith shop, tannery and harness shop, and an apothecary. Our midwives assisted in the many births. We needed little that the plantation didn't produce except salt and iron goods.

Farming our vast lands and multiple crops required countless hard days of toil in the fields. All our workers, in truth, all the denizens of Ironwood except my family, were Negro slaves. My grandfather acquired the first slaves when he founded Ironwood over fifty years before. Since then, our slaveholdings had grown as the plantation grew. Many of our slaves were born and raised at Ironwood. Others were acquired from the slave markets in Savannah or other plantations.

Grandfather and Father both treated our slaves far differently than was typical. "I've followed my own father's footsteps, Robert," Father once told me. "I treat my slaves better and give them more than other slave owners. They work harder for the better life." At Ironwood, the whip was rarely used. Rather, uncooperative or unproductive slaves were sold.

Ironwood was the only plantation I knew of where a slave, rather than a hired white-man, was the overseer, as the manager was called. Our overseer was named Jonah. Approximately Father's age, Jonah lived in the largest of the slave houses with his wife, Sarah, who managed the household since Mother died, his two sons, Samuel and David, and his daughter, Constance Anne, who was named after Mother.

We were at dinner one night, seated, as always, with Father at the head, Elizabeth on his left, and I opposite him. Father looked at me and said, "Robert, Mr. Whitfield died and his funeral is day after tomorrow at Whitlands. We'll need to leave in the morning. You'll drive the buckboard and I'll ride alongside."

"Why can't I go?" Elizabeth asked.

"We'll be bringing back slaves," Father replied.

I responded, "I'll be ready, Father." From the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah watching me intently and I wondered why.

Before sunrise the next morning, Sarah awakened me. I dressed in my traveling suit, packed my best clothes to wear at the funeral, and trotted downstairs to eat another of our cook's delicious breakfasts of eggs, ham, fresh made bread, and strong tea. Immediately upon finishing, we gathered our greatcoats to ward off the cold dankness of the early morn, checked and holstered our weapons, and joined Jonah in front of the Great House where he had readied our horses.

I did not like driving the buckboard. The easy gait of horseback was less tiring on my backside than the buckboard's bounce and our riding horses set a quicker pace than the buckboard's paired draft horses. Father hadn't asked my opinion and I, therefore, didn't give one.

With Father on Liberty, his red steed, leading the way, we rode down Ironwood's main road, past the gardens and the fruit tree orchards to the main gate where we joined the common road leading to Whitlands. Father paid me no mind. He was surveying his fields as we rode.

The sun had been up an hour or so when Father raised his hand to indicate we should stop. I set the brake and tied the reins around it before stepping down to stretch my legs and ease my already aching bones. We stripped off our greatcoats and tossed them in back of the buckboard before drinking a bit of water from the canteen Sarah packed for us. The day threatened inclement weather, but as yet the rains of March weren't upon us.

When he was ready for us to begin again, Father surprised me by tying Liberty to the buckboard.

"I'll ride with you, Robert," he said. "Why don't I drive for awhile?

"If you wish," I replied.

I climbed aboard, sitting on the left in the driver's seat as Father loosened the reins, released the brake, and popped the reins on the team's rumps to start us again.

There was only one reason Father would ride with me, for he hated the buckboard as much as I did. He had something he wanted to say. I was silent. He would tell me in his own good time. We passed the main gate to Riverwood, the plantation that adjoined ours, before he began.

"Robert, we need to talk about women and children and life," he said seriously.

Certainly, I was surprised. I knew about reproduction of animals as any farm boy my age would, although I had not yet experienced my own first mating despite a rapidly increasing eagerness to do so.

"Edward Whitfield was a good farmer. Whitlands is a prime property. I want it, and Edward wanted me to have it upon his demise."

I said nothing. Father looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

"I do appreciate a respectful silence, Son," he said. "But you're welcome to join in the conversation. You will be a man in the blink of an eye."

"Are you going to buy Whitlands?" I asked.

"No, Robert. I have arranged for you to marry Jane Marie."

I choked and gasped, which made him guffaw so loudly he scared birds from the trees. He slapped me on the back.

"I wish you could see your face," he said.

I didn't want to see my face. I'm sure it was red and mottled as it always is when I'm flustered. "Father, I don't want to marry her," I said when I had recovered my tongue.

"Why not? She's a good looking lass."

"It's not that. She's a... a shrew."

"Edward preferred to think of her as high-spirited. She will be a challenge for you."

"Challenge? She'll be the death of me," I said.

"Hardly. She's certainly no worse than her mother."

"Who drove Mr. Whitfield to an early grave," I said, hoping for any point in my favor to worm my way from under this life sentence he had pronounced on me.

"Do you think?" Father asked. I could tell by his tone he was wise to my gambit.

"Of course," I bluffed. "Even I could see the meanness of her spirit."

Father fixed his cool, calm eyes on me.

"Every man has a weakness, Robert. That weakness can be anything. Most often, it's cards or whiskey or women's sweet cunts. Edward's weakness was his relationship with Mary Elizabeth, his own wife. Do you remember September, my mare?"

"Yes, Father," I replied. September was his favorite horse before Liberty. What she had to do with this discussion, I had no idea.

"Do you remember sitting on the fence watching me train her? You might not, you were only eight at the time."

"No, I remember. September was the first horse I watched you break."

"Were you there the day we roped her legs and whipped her?"

"Yes, I was," I answered.

"That day made her docile, more malleable and eager to please. I didn't bring the whip harshly to her at first. I tried softer techniques, but, in the end, the whip brought her to heel."

"Are you suggesting a woman should be treated that way?"

"I'm saying a harsh and demanding hand with a liberal dose of punishment can soften a woman's demeanor, but it should be applied only if all else fails."

"Even Mrs. Whitfield?"

"I think she would greatly benefit from it."

"But we don't whip our slaves," I said.

"No, we don't, and I hope we never will."

"Then why would a man whip a white woman who is his wife?"

He laughed. "Because you can't sell them," he said. He popped the reins and called to the team. They quickened their pace.

I was sorely confused. Here I was still a virgin with bright shining ideas of marriage and baser ideas of the hard coupling of bodies I only knew from hints in books or whispers with my friends, and yet, I was quickly to be a married man shackled to a shrew of a wife with her painful harping blighting my own bleak future.

And whipping? I knew slaves were whipped when their master thought it was needed. At Father's insistence, I had witnessed that harsh punishment of two unfortunate souls at Riverwood, whose owner felt the whip was the only way to bring compliance with his wishes. But a woman? My wife?

Suddenly, a question popped into mind. "Did you whip Mother?" I blurted out.

He looked sharply at me and flicked the reins again.

I hardly remembered my mother, who died giving birth to Elizabeth when I was three. What I do remember was a soft, warm, smiling women who sang to me at night and talked to me in hushed, loving tones, whose eyes sparkled with tender mischief when we played a game. I sometimes stood before her portrait hanging above the fireplace in the parlor and stared, letting her countenance renew my dim memories. I wondered what she was like in flesh and blood, and if my recollections of her arms around me when I was small were as they truly were or figments of my fertile imagination.

I had never thought of her as a woman, only a mother. Father's comments to me that day thrust her into a different light.

Father kept his face from me, but I saw him brush a tear from his cheek. He slowed the rig to a stop, set the brake, and stepped down. I watched him walk away, pretending to check the harness while bringing his handkerchief to his eyes.

Turning to me, he said, "I'll ride for awhile." He untied Liberty's reins from the buckboard, mounted, and kicked the big horse ahead at a gallop. I slid behind the buckboard's reins, released the brake, and followed after him.

What was my mother like?

I had met other women and I knew what they were like. My father's mother was tall and thin, with a perpetually sour face as if lemons were her only sustenance. Except at dinner, I don't remember ever seeing her without a prayer book in her hand or a shawl draped over her bony shoulders. Mrs. Whitfield was a shrew, carping and biting. Mrs. Townsend, of the Savannah Townsends and wife of Father's solicitor, was plump as a berry and bland as oatmeal with nary a thought of her own.

I liked to think Mother was like Elizabeth, my sister, or, I should say, Elizabeth was like Mother. Elizabeth was bright and shiny with eyes that either glowed with happiness or batted petulantly when she wanted her way. Elizabeth was a sprite, a bundle of sweet smelling joy dancing through Ironwood and our lives. Yes, Mother must have been that way. Father's reaction was too strong for anything else.

My thoughts turned to Jane Marie Whitfield, my bride-to-be if Father carried through with his awful plan. Jane Marie was striking with black hair down to her waist and white porcelain skin. Lately, she kept her cute nose high in the air, to everyone's misfortune. And she did have beautiful blue eyes. I knew those eyes when she flirted with me, and Jane Marie had played the coquette more than once. But more often lately I had seen those eyes angry and spiteful. To see her then was like looking in the open gates of Hell. That view of her, and living with it forever, disheartened me.

As to Jane Marie's body, I had some idea since the white women in our region often dressed in flowing gowns, leaving their shoulders bare, with corsets and stays to narrow their waists and raise their bosoms in, for me at least, an unfulfilled promise of treasures to come. I must admit I found the long curve of Jane Marie's neck, the perfect symmetry of her collarbones, and the soft flesh flowing to what appeared to be well-formed breasts quite appealing. However, the gowns they wore and the boots they donned to enhance their shapely feet and the pains with which they applied their makeup, all to attract the attention of men, seemed to be folly, for when we were attracted, they drove us off, huffing that our attentions were unwanted.

The slaves in the fields wore less armament, dressing simply in loose, flowing dresses that moved in the wind as they worked. That wind was an ally to man, sometimes blowing their dresses against their bodies revealing valleys and hills to titillate our thoughts.

I had seen only one woman naked. It was a queer incident of fate lasting only a few moments, but those moments were stamped in my brain as indelibly as the foundry's name was stamped on a plow.

We had a slave named Pearly Bright. She was a house slave, which meant she worked in the house as a maid or cook or laundress rather than in the fields. Her residence, unlike all the other slaves, was adjunct to the Great House itself, allowing her entrance without enduring the weather.

Late one night less than a year ago, I awoke with a deep hunger for the gooseberry pie I knew Cook had left in the kitchen. I quietly slipped out of my bed and padded downstairs in my stocking feet to find the sweetness to dispatch my ache. The moon was bright that night, filtering through the shade trees on the kitchen side of the house.

Before I could light a kitchen candle, I heard a giggle and the patter of feet. I froze, hidden, I thought, in the darkness of the room. In a moment, a female form floated out of the hall and crossed the kitchen toward the door leading to Pearly Bright's quarters. The moonlight reflected from her shiny black skin for she was in all her naked glory. How I wished for the brightness of the sun or a candelabra, at least, to illuminate what I could see-the roundness of her breasts with the long hard tissue jutting from it, the curve of her backside and her legs-and reveal what I couldn't see at all but desperately wanted to see-the hidden secrets of her sex.

She stopped with her hand on the doorknob to her quarters and half-turned to look at me. The brightness of her teeth flashed like a lighthouse beacon with the whites of her eyes reflective counterpoints.

"You needs to ask yo' Pappy for a pretty little girl like me, Master Robert," she said in a tone I'd never heard but knew instinctively represented raw carnality.

She opened the door and was gone, leaving me shaking and unbelieving of what had transpired. I was struck dumb, not recovering my senses until I found myself in my own room with a gooseberry pie in one hand and a painfully stiff manhood in the other. I dispatched the latter before sinking back in my feather bed to eat the former and dream of Pearly Bright.

I knew then Pearly Bright wasn't walking naked through the Great House at Ironwood for no reason. That hall led to Father's bedroom. I didn't ask him about it because of my own embarrassment. Thereafter, I watched him and Pearly Bright. During the day, he treated her no differently than he treated the other slaves, and she was a good servant who acted like she deserved no special preferences.

But I suddenly could see what I suspect had been there all along but invisible to me. I saw the tiny downturn of her head accompanied by those big black eyes staring up at him through her lashes, or the tilt of her body as she served by bowing from the waist to offer to him a glance at her breasts, or other signals of her sexuality, and her eagerness to share it with him.

I realized, too, I had seen those signals other times from her to him, and from other women to other men. I had even seen such signs from Jane Marie Whitfield to me on more than one occasion, but I had been too naive to understand them.

I certainly did wish my Father would provide me with a pretty girl like Pearly Bright to patter to my bed and do with me what I could only imagine, but I did not ask. To do so would have been a violation of the unspoken social contract I felt with him.

I reconsidered Jane Marie and her signals, wondering if they were intentional and for me, or intentional but I was only a surrogate for someone else whether named or unnamed, or unintentional and part of nature's plan her body unthinkingly performed as she grew. Of course, now that I was aware of the import of those subtle signs, I was determined to act upon them.

I saw Jane Marie on a regular basis as our families visited back and forth at one plantation or the other. The next time she passed those signs, I responded, receiving a screech, a slap, and a tongue lashing for my effort, which led me to believe she was a tease. Never once did I consider I might have read the signs incorrectly for I had studied Pearly Bright's movements with the intensity a scientist studies a bug, and felt assured in my conclusions.

We visited the Whitfields again, and again Jane Marie passed me the signs. I did not respond for I knew what to expect. I was slapped anyway and labeled a cad for ignoring her.

Certainly, no man can happily suffer this kind of treatment and I did not look forward to Jane Marie's presence in my life.

I saw Father standing beside Liberty on the edge of the roadway. The sun was high over us now and I suddenly realized my belly was empty. I stopped beside him. As I watered the horses, he opened the traveling basket Cook had prepared and set a table on the buckboard's wide bed. We ate standing up to allow the part of us that most suffered the journey's ride an opportunity to rest.

When our repast was complete, he tied Liberty to the rig and took its reins to drive. I sat silently beside him and waited for him to speak.

"I loved your Mother, God rest her soul. I loved her with all my heart."

The rattle of the buckboard, the chatter of the harness, and the rhythmical plodding of the horses' hooves did not fill the void his silence left. I was contemplating if my newly received permission to enter the conversation at will entitled me to speak here, when Father spoke again.

"I have never told you our story, have I?"

"No, sir."

"Weddings are arranged, Robert, as I have arranged for you to marry Jane Marie. It isn't so with all people. Some of the lower classes wed whoever will have them or whoever first becomes round with their child, but arranged marriages are our way. Your mother and I were an arranged marriage, as were our parents before us and their parents before them. There is too much at risk for it to be left to chance. Ownership of land and businesses pass by marriage. Heritage and family traditions and accumulated wealth all pass by marriage. Do you understand?"

"I think so, but, well..."

"Go on, Robert. Speak your mind."

"You say you loved Mother, but you had no say in marrying her."

"That's true, but my father saw that I loved her even though I was too young to be aware of it. And he saw that she loved me. There were other matches he could have made for me, matches that would enrich our family purse beyond what dear Constance brought to us, but he knew our true feelings for each other and arranged our marriage for our mutual benefit."

"Then why are you shackling me to Jane Marie?" I cried.

"She loves you and you will love her if you don't now."

"How can you say that? I despise her."

"Do you?" he asked.

"I said I did."

"Then why do your eyes gleam in happy anticipation when we go to Whitlands? Why do you stand straight and tall while we're there? And why are you so angry when she doesn't fall at your feet like a happy puppy?" His eyes twinkled and he was grinning like a cat. "I'll tell you. Because you want her to want you and when she acts like she doesn't, you are hurt and confused."

"That's not it."

"Yes, it is, and I was the same way with your mother."

He closed his eyes and was lost in thought, not even realizing the team had slowed once again.

"My God, Constance was a flirt. She would sashay and giggle and bat those big eyes at me. She'd pretend she had some secret to tell me and come close to whisper in my ear, but it was a ploy to tantalize my senses with her delicious fragrance and push her breasts into me to tease me with their softness."

"Oh."

He chuckled. "I've seen Jane Marie do that with you."

"I know," I replied, remembering the feel of Jane Marie's body on mine.

"Constance teased me unmercifully from the time we met when I was fifteen and she was thirteen. By the time we married two years later, I was as keen as a bull in mating season for her. She didn't disappoint me. Not once." He popped the reins and the team stepped up their pace. "You asked if I ever whipped her. I never did although I did warm her pretty bottom with my hand a few times for our enjoyment."

"But there's a whip hanging on the wall of your bedroom."

"Ah, yes. Let me explain how that came to be. On the day before we married, her father asked to see me in his study. I had never been alone with Mr. Courtland and I didn't know what to expect. When we entered, Constance was sitting primly on a chair by his desk. He motioned for me to sit. When I did, he handed me that whip. 'A woman is like a horse, Bruce, ' he said. 'Sometimes she needs a whip to encourage her to perform her tasks. That whip was made for you, to use on my daughter if she earns it.' I was much surprised as you might imagine. My dear Constance was watching me like a bird watches a bug and I studied her with the same intensity.

"Then Mr. Courtland asked, 'Do you have anything to say, Constance?' Your mother spoke the truth from her soul, saying, 'Use it if I need it, Bruce, but I promise you now that I will never need it for I will be the wife of your dreams.' Upon our marriage, we settled into the Little House at Ironwood. She hung the whip on the wall there. When we moved into the Great House, she again hung that whip near our bed. I never took it down. She was, as she solemnly promised, the wife of my dreams."

"I need to pee," I said.

"Me, too," he replied. He brought the rig to a halt and we dismounted to relieve ourselves on the bushes beside the road.

Once underway, I said, "Do you think I will need a whip for Jane Marie?"

"You might. She has seen her mother's carping and the misery she wrought on Edward. She might think that is the way a marriage is supposed to be because humans, like cats or dogs, learn from watching their elders. If she does, I'd suggest a good spanking with your hand on the night such behavior first appears to encourage her in the right direction. If further corporeal punishment is needed, you can administer it later."

"When will we marry?" I asked.

At this point, I must state I felt no apprehension concerning my impending nuptials to Jane Marie. Father's discussion heightened my awareness of relationships with the fairer sex and shed a bright light on my intended and her behavior. I realized she was most definitely interested in me as a man and that her flirtatious teasing, which started as early as I could remember, had increased to the point of being intolerable only lately. Clearly, she was focusing her feminine wiles on me in hopes of bringing me to her side at the altar.

I, of course, had responded as would be anticipated, with increasing mental frustration and a growing awareness in my genitals that she was a woman I would enjoy, for Jane Marie was a lovely and fiery girl, high-spirited and quick witted as well as charming when she wished to be. I had spent many lovely hours with her, which my memory hid as her teasing became unbearable. As I reexamined her actions toward me and my reactions to her, I knew those happy times would be multiplied upon completion of our nuptials.

"Our reason for visiting Whitlands is threefold, Robert. First, of course, is to attend Edward's funeral. Second is to set the date of your marriage to Jane Marie if I can assuage your objections to marrying her.

"I have no objections, Father. I think Jane Marie will make me an excellent wife."

He looked askance at me. "Oh? You said she was a shrew."

"I have reconsidered and I was wrong."

"I was serious about your taking her in hand and providing the guidance she needs."

"I know and I will, but I see her differently now. I think she will welcome my husbandly requests."

"You've made a good decision, Robert. Jane Marie does love you and you love her more than you realize," he said warmly. He rushed the horses again. "The third reason we are visiting Whitlands is to acquire three slaves, a woman named Patience and her two daughters. You know Pearly Bright was my mistress."

I felt the warmth of a blush rising in me. "Yes, sir," I said.

"She told me about that night you saw her coming from my bedroom and what she said to you."

"You knew?" popped from me.

"Yes, and I waited for you to ask me for a girl of your own. You never did."

"I thought you would be appalled," I replied.

"No. In fact, Jonah and I had our eyes on one or two we thought might be suitable for you."

"I wish I had asked," I said dejectedly.

"That's water under the bridge now. Patience was Edward's mistress. I am acquiring her for several reasons. Foremost in my mind is that she is a beautiful and sensual woman well skilled in pleasing a man and eager to use those skills for his enjoyment. But foremost in Edward's mind was to remove her and her daughters from Whitlands and any vengeance Mary Elizabeth might work upon them. Patience was a thorn in Mary Elizabeth's side that festered mightily."

"She knew about his mistress?"

"Yes, and so did Jane Marie. Women of our class expect their husbands to take mistresses, whether from the readily available slaves or some white trollop they stumble upon, so they turn a blind eye to our dalliances and accept without discourse our lovers, even if they are within the confines of their own house and among its servants. But there are unspoken rules we all understand and those rules must be followed. Edward did not follow those rules and he suffered the consequences. That was his mistake and a mistake you should not make in your own marriage. Mary Elizabeth's heart hardened from his flaunting of Patience. Bad leads to bad. As she hardened, Edward turned more to Patience rather than dealing with his own wife, increasing her concerns and multiplying her discontent like fertilizer grows crops."

I knew Patience. She was a house slave at Whitlands, an unusually striking woman with an air of unrestrained sensuality. As I remembered my many visits there, the interplay between Mr. Whitfield, his wife, and his mistress slowly became apparent.

"What are the rules?" I asked.

"That's a particularly good question and a hard one to answer, for in each household husband and wife modify and adapt those rules to fit their own peculiarities. Some base rules do apply. You should never flaunt your mistress or tease or taunt your wife with her, and never compare the two. You do not ignore your wife or her needs. Your wife must always believe she is the first and most important woman in your life. The base rule for the wife is to never ask if you have a mistress, or question your absences from her own bed, or raise an issue about the subtle interchange sexual familiarity always brings. If she violates this rule and does question your relationship, you must deny it, deny it with all your powers to persuade, even if she finds you in bed together and the proof is undeniable."

"So you lie to her even when you both know it is a lie and she accepts it as truth."

"Exactly."

"Strange," I said.

"Perhaps, but true. Edward violated those rules and so did Mary Elizabeth. They both suffered the consequences. But it was Edward's awful flaunting that was the ultimate wedge between them."

"How did he flaunt the rules?" I asked.

"The final split was to lay Patience down on the dinner table and take her there as Mary Elizabeth sat seething at the other end and a guest watched in horror. That was unforgivable and a terrible humiliation not only for Mary Elizabeth but for Patience and the guest."

"Were you the guest?"

"Yes, I was, to my mortification. Later, when we two were alone, I bitterly chastised Edward for his conduct, but he was unrepentant as to Mary Elizabeth, although he was sorely saddened by his action's impact on his relationship with both Patience and me.

"That is something else you must remember, Robert. Your mistress may be a common girl or a slave over whom you have the power of life and death, but she is, first and foremost, a woman. She knows, as do you, her children will not bear your name except in the most queer of circumstances and her presence in your life is subject to an abrupt and uncontrollable ending because your relationship is of and for the flesh and not for fortune and family and name.

"She knows you will not call for her in the brightness of parties and social occasions but in the dimness of night when she comes to you stealthily, so she must know her importance to you as a harbinger of joy and heat and pleasures of the flesh and believe those pleasures are great and highly valued by you. More importantly, she must know you care for her."

"I know I have no experience in these matters, but it seems to me having a mistress and not caring for her makes no sense," I said.

"I agree, but not all men do. There are men who will take a woman, particularly a slave woman, and toss her aside like rubbish when their pleasure is complete. That robs them and the women of some of the greatest pleasures, those that only come from a deeper communion than mere flesh."

Father did not speak for some time as he patiently waited for me to digest all he had said. When he believed I was ready, he spoke again.

"Patience has two daughters, Ebony, who is two years older than you, and Fancy, who was born the same week as Jane Marie and, like her, is approaching sixteen. Edward fathered those girls. He knew when he died Mary Elizabeth could make their lives a living Hell. He didn't want that for them, for he may have loved them in his own way. I promised him I would provide for them and see to their needs."

I remembered Ebony. She was a fine looking girl who had been blessed in her physical attributes. I did not remember Fancy.

"Patience will become my mistress. A man needs a woman in his life and she is a striking woman."

"Why did you give up Pearly Bright?" I asked.

"It was time. She was ready for a husband and Micah sorely wanted her."

"Father, is..."

"Her child mine?" he said completing my thought. "No, he isn't. I have only one other child, Felicity, Eliza's eldest."

Eliza had been a house slave, occupying the quarters Pearly Bright later occupied and which now stood empty. She was our chief seamstress, managing other slaves and providing all the clothing worn at Ironwood. Her husband, James, was one of Jonah's trusted assistants, who would be entitled "assistant overseer" if such titles were given.

"If something happens to me, Robert, I want you to provide for Felicity and Eliza and James and their other children."

"Yes, Father," I said.

"We have complete control over our slaves. We may buy and sell or kill and maim or do whatever we wish with them, but they are humans, Robert, and only a fool acts without consideration of their feelings. There are too many fools in the Carolinas and, I tell you, we may well rue the day we enslaved them."

"I understand," I replied. I think I did comprehend what he said, at least on a primitive level. While his discourse explained in good measure his principles in managing our slaves, it also raised other questions, one of which I voiced. "May I ask... I mean... did you, in taking Eliza or Pearly Bright to your bed... was that act itself contrary to their feelings?"

"I didn't force them. They came eagerly to me. But we were talking about Patience and her daughters," he said, changing the subject. "Patience will be my mistress and live in the quarters formerly occupied by Pearly Bright. I am giving her daughters to you."

My head jerked around and I asked incredulously, "What did you say?"

He chuckled. "I'm going to give Ebony and Fancy to you. They will be your slaves."

"Mine?"

"Yes. Yours."

There are, as I was fully cognizant, passages into manhood that each, in its own way, signals one's growth and development. I remembered well events in my own life of that nature, such as the acquisition and mastering of firearms and my first horse. Owning my own slave was such an event. I knew instinctively it was all preparation for my marriage and, eventually, my own plantation.

While my mind pondered the grander scheme of wife, children, and land, a part of me stirred at the thoughts of my slave girl providing the rich and essential services that Pearly Bright once provided my father.

Father, ever observant of those around him, apparently read my thoughts.

"Both Ebony and Fancy know of the relationship between their mother and Edward, and they know he is their father. They all know they became our slaves the moment Edward died and we are arriving to transport them back to Ironwood." He hesitated a moment. "I have been told Patience has explained to her daughters the nuances of those liaisons between master and slave and what they, as women, might expect their master to request of them."

Infuriatingly, he ceased speaking until I could stand it no more. "And?" I demanded.

"I'm told Ebony joyfully anticipates your approach."

"And Fancy?"

He laughed. "She was less eager, but she is younger and still a virgin while her sister coupled with Edward and at least two of the bucks. Ebony is a trollop one might say, but her experience can be put to good use in your own learning. Enjoy Ebony for now and be patient with Fancy. I suspect she will come around."

"Good Lord. Two slave girls and a wife," I muttered.

Father laughed and slapped me on the back. He popped the reins hard and hurried us toward Whitlands.

My mind reeled with my thoughts bouncing from this subject to that like a staggering drunk. Here was I, who awakened this morning a lad with fleeting cares but who would go to sleep tonight a man who was betrothed, slave owning, and facing the responsibility of inheriting not one, but two, significant farms.

Other thoughts flittered through my mind-thoughts of women, although the actual woman changed from Jane Marie to Ebony to Pearly Bright to others I had observed, back and forth in maddening fashion, leaving me with an ache in my trousers and a spinning head.

Father and I continued our discussion randomly, primarily with him answering questions popping from me. He reiterated his comments about the subject of slavery, again pointing out the dismal conditions and treatment at Riverwood, particularly as they compared to the slaves' situation at Ironwood. He voiced his intention to raise the slave standards at Whitlands and assigned the task his first priority.

We talked more of Mother, who, as I had reasoned, was indeed an older Elizabeth Father had loved mightily and still loved despite the passage of time. We talked about my sister and what he hoped for her. We talked of planting and crops and labor utilization.

And we talked of Jane Marie Whitfield, who was to become my wife, and of her mother, Mary Elizabeth, who would be my mother-in-law and, therefore, my burden.

Father more fully explained his agreement with Mr. Whitfield, which they had reduced to writing in a legal contract. Father would immediately take over management of Whitlands, with the profits inuring partly to him and partly to Mrs. Whitfield and Jane Marie as provided in Edward's will. Mrs. Whitfield suffered a financial detriment from the harshness separating her from her husband. Edward had, no doubt out of spite, left his wife dependent, in part, on the goodwill of his daughter and her future husband for her security. Father counseled me on how to address those issues with the Whitfield ladies should they arise.

The sun was gone from the horizon and the heat of the day was lessening when Father turned the buckboard into the main gate at Whitlands. He stopped the rig and said, "I'll ride from here."

"Thank you, Father," I said.

"You're welcome. I know you will make me proud."

He mounted Liberty and led us down the darkened path to Whitfield, which would, one day in the immediate future, be my home, and where today resided Jane Marie, my wife-to-be, and the winsome slave, Ebony, with whom I would lie that very night.



-------

Chapter 2: Mr. Whitfield's Funeral


I saw the lights of Whitlands twinkling through the trees as I drove the buckboard up the road to the plantation house. I popped the reins to encourage my two tired draft horses to speed their way. They would rest soon enough and I was anxious to arrive.

Whitlands was smaller than Ironwood-less land, fewer slaves, and without Savannah River frontage that enhanced the viability of the property by allowing direct water transport of its goods. Still, it was significant and larger than many of the plantations, such as Riverwood, in our part of South Carolina.

At Ironwood, we had three houses, all on a large circular road off the main plantation road, in addition to the slave houses, barns, stables, and other buildings. The Great House was home to my father and his family, which included my mother until her death, my sister Elizabeth, and me. The Guest House was next to the Great House and served as residence to business or social visitors who, from time to time, stayed with us at Ironwood. The Little House sat farther away to give it distance from the Great House but be close enough for its residents to travel to the Great House with ease. It was built for my father and mother upon their wedding. When my grandfather died, my grandmother lived there until her own demise. Now it sat empty.

Whitlands contained only two such homes, both smaller than those at Ironwood. Mr. Whitfield named the larger of the two The Manor and it was his residence. The smaller was his guest house.

Father brought Liberty to a halt opposite the wide front steps at The Manor, dismounted, and gave Liberty's reins to a stable boy who would tend to him. I stopped the buckboard and a short black boy jumped into the seat beside me. I handed him the reins and stepped down on Whitlands' rich soil. He waited until two other slaves removed our baggage and carried them toward The Manor before driving away.

As Father and I climbed the steps, Mrs. Whitfield came through the doors to greet us. With her was a tall, thin man I didn't know. He was bald and stooped forward from age but his eyes were sharp behind his pince-nez. Mrs. Whitfield appeared sorely troubled as she rigidly marched toward us.

"Good evening, Mary Elizabeth," Father said.

"Good evening, Bruce," she replied, extending her hand to be kissed, which he did by bowing from the waist, raising his hand so hers rested on it, and gently pressing his lips to the back of her hand, as was our custom.

"Good evening, Mrs. Whitfield," I said to her, raising my hand.

I had never kissed the back of her hand or of any other woman's hand. That honor was reserved for men who were friends or close acquaintances, not boys. She had not treated me as an adult, but I felt it was time since I was soon to be married to her daughter. It was another rite of passage, for in asking to kiss her hand, I asked her to acknowledge me as a man. She paled but stepped forward and laid her hand on mine. I kissed it perfunctorily and, I presume, properly, but her hand trembled when my lips touched it.

"Hello, Stephen. How are you tonight?" Father said to the tall man as he shook his hand.

"Fine, thank you, Bruce," the man replied.

"Stephen, let me introduce my son, Robert James MacKenzie, heir to Ironwood and the betrothed of Miss Jane Marie Whitfield of Whitlands. Robert, this is Stephen Burlingame of Burlingame & Simpson, Solicitors, of Savannah, Georgia." After Mr. Burlingame and I exchanged greetings, Father continued by saying, "Mr. Burlingame is Edward Whitfield's solicitor. I suspect he is here to explain to Mrs. Whitfield the terms of her husband's will."

"Primarily to attend the funeral, of course," Mr. Burlingame said effacingly.

As the three of them discussed arrangements for the funeral tomorrow, I studied Mrs. Whitfield. She was only an inch or two above five feet tall, considerably shorter than my six feet or Jane Marie's five feet five inches, but she gave the appearance of greater height for she stood ramrod straight and proud, holding herself with a regal bearing.

I would guess that a man who didn't know of her reputation and met her for the first time would think she was attractive. Her waist was narrow, her bosom impressive, particularly in relation to her height, and her face would have been pretty if not distorted with sourness. But knowing her would quickly lead a man to the conclusion her system was as full of poison as the rattlesnakes hiding among the undergrowth in the woods.

On our journey to Whitlands that day, Father had attempted to soften her nasty reputation by explaining her husband's folly relative to a slave girl he took as a mistress, but I wondered which came first, the sourness or the folly, like the age-old conundrum of the chicken and the egg. Mrs. Whitfield didn't appear caustic that night. Rather, she was clearly frightened and struggled to maintain her self-control. Father had told me her inheritance was a trifle, only a small ration of what she expected, and I reasoned that was the seat of her discomfiture.

"You and Robert will be staying in the Guest House, Bruce," she said. "Your slaves have readied it for you."

Father was surprised and so was I. We were being dismissed and none too politely, I might add. Mrs. Whitfield's face was crimson and set in stone as she successfully held Father's gaze.

"Might I see Jane Marie?" I asked.

"She's not presentable, Robert. Tomorrow will be soon enough."

She held my gaze for a moment but Father still glared at her and our combined strength made her relent.

"Please forgive me, Bruce," she remarked apologetically. "Stephen and I have much to discuss tonight because I must understand Edward's will. It has implications that..." She ceased speaking and spread her arms, struggling for words to say what was beyond her comprehension.

I had never seen Mrs. Whitfield when she wasn't complaining or commanding. Contrition and consternation softened her features and revealed a side she kept hidden behind a she-devil's facade. For the first time, I felt empathy for her and her position and an appreciation of her womanliness.

"Certainly, Mary Elizabeth," Father replied politely.

He and I took our leave with two of The Manor's slaves following with our baggage.

"Give me a strong rope, a good whip, and an hour with her, and I could make a decent woman out of that persimmon," Father muttered as we strode down the path.

When we stepped on the porch of the guest house, the door swung open.

"Good evening, Master Bruce," Patience said.

She dipped to the floor in a full curtsy, complete with the hem of her dress modestly extended by her right hand and ending with her knee resting on the floor and her head bowed. I wondered who invented and institutionalized this graceful civility for it showed women in a delightful light.

"Rise, Patience," Father said.

She rose as gracefully as she reclined and stepped back to allow us entrance without looking either of us in the eye. I immediately saw two young slave-girls standing near the back wall with their heads bowed. We waited until the other slaves set our baggage on the floor and Patience closed the door behind them.

"Come, girls, meet your new master," Patience ordered.

Both of them awkwardly stepped forward until they faced us.

"I am the slave of Master Bruce MacKenzie of Ironwood, but both of you belong to Master Robert, his son," Patience explained to her daughters, although Father had told me they already knew. "This is Ebony," she said, touching the taller of the two. "And this is Fancy," she continued, touching the other.

The two of them intoned "Good evening, Master Robert. Good evening, Master Bruce," as they gave each of us a half curtsy.

"Master Robert, may I speak?" Patience continued.

"Of course," I replied.

"My girls were taught what you as their master will expect of them, but if you are displeased, I beg that you allow me to instruct them in your pleasure rather than taking the whip to them," Patience pleaded.

Father laughed and Patience trembled. "Patience, look at me," he commanded. Her head jerked up to reveal her beautiful and terrified countenance. "Didn't Edward explain to you?"

"Explain what, Master?" she whispered.

"I know you were his mistress and these girls are his daughters. He wanted me to have you, Patience, to protect you from harm's way and I will, but you will serve me and serve me well as you served him, and your girls will serve Robert in the same manner. We don't use the whip at Ironwood except in rare situations and we don't expect our slaves to always defer their eyes. You will quickly learn service at Ironwood is easier and more enjoyable than elsewhere."

Patience visibly relaxed and gave him a shy half-smile.

"It's all right, Patience," Father said gently. He waited until her trepidation disappeared and her happiness surfaced before extending his arms, and saying, "Give me a kiss and a real welcome."

She leapt into his arms, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him with such heat I felt the singe. I had never seen a woman and man kiss passionately, although in the dim recesses of my mind I had a hazy recollection of my mother kissing Father with such fervor. And I had never seen a white and a Negro touch intimately. In truth, a black touching a white was often the reason for the black's death or brutal punishment. Evidently Father had no complaints, for he returned her kiss with equal zeal before gently sitting down on the chesterfield with her still attached.

I heard Ebony clear her throat. I turned to see the two of them standing still as statues with their heads bowed.

In a flash of realization, I understood their actions. Father had released his slave, but I was their master and I gave no such release. Without my command they would stand there until they swooned.

That thought and the knowledge I was in possession of not one, but two, slave girls to direct as I might wish, gave me a burst of heady emotions that rendered me numb. My wishes would include one of them relieving me of the tedious burden of my virginity and escorting me to sexual realms of which I had only dreamed. I relished in this sea change, such a vital and primal passage in my life.

In the quiet of the room, I heard Father summon Patience to lie beside him on the chesterfield. While my eyes were on Ebony and Fancy, in my peripheral vision I saw Patience crawl up to recline against him as they both watched and waited for me to act.

Using a light touch, I cupped Ebony's chin in the palm of my hand. She didn't move. I guided her head upward until she was face to face with me. Still, she deferred her eyes.

"Look at me, Ebony," I whispered.

She raised her eyes to mine. She was, as I remembered from my visits to Whitlands, a beauty with the sensual and feminine features of her mother. Her eyes were soft and hot with expectation and she struggled to restrain a smile from growing on her face as her pink tongue flicked to lick her full lower lip. She seemed as eager to begin our relationship as I was.

When I released her chin, her head dropped to bow again. Again, I lifted it and she remained that way.

"May I have your permission to be your lover, Ebony?" I asked quietly.

Clearly, she was surprised by the question. Her surprise gave way to the joy of being given an opportunity to demure. Her infectious, broad grin brought a smile to my face.

"I want to be your mistress, Master Robert," she said. I had no doubt she was being truthful.

"You will be," I replied.

I leaned to kiss her, aware I had kissed girls playfully but never kissed a woman. Ebony's mouth opened and her tongue flicked against my lips urging my own mouth open to receive it. I knew this woman would enrich my life and nothing would ever be the same. When I broke the kiss, Ebony's hot eyes told me I hadn't done too badly for the first time.

I stepped to stand opposite Fancy. When my hand touched her chin, she trembled.

"Look at me, Fancy," I said as I raised her face to mine.

Several thoughts rushed through me at once. I did not remember seeing Fancy previously and, if I had seen her, I would have remembered for she was more beautiful than either her mother or her sister. Her features were finer. Her eyes were a lighter brown, near the color of a buckskin horse with flecks in a blue-green hue, as compared to Ebony's dark chocolate eyes or the black ones of her mother. Her skin was a lighter color than her mother's and, perhaps, even a shade lighter than Ebony.

Most striking, though, was the realization her features resembled those of Jane Marie, my intended and her half-sister. If one looked closely, the family resemblance was clear, even to the freckles so obvious against Jane Marie's paleness and almost hidden under Fancy's dusky sheen.

Fancy's face openly revealed her terrors.

"It's all right, Fancy," I said, hoping to assuage her with my tenderness. I waited until she relaxed before saying, "May I have your permission to be your lover?"

Her expression said the fear of being taken by me warred within her against the horror of displeasing a man who could have her flayed to death. Conflicting emotions brought tears to her eyes. She struggled for courage and finally said, "Yes, Master Robert" in a voice giving lie to the words.

"I'm surprised you agreed. I was told you did not yet want to be with a man," I said.

Her eyes widened and her head jerked to face Patience. "Mother," she cried plaintively. I saw Father's hand tighten on Patience's wrist. She did not reply and gave her daughter a look indicating she was unable to help.

Fancy shook in fear, on the edge of collapse and unable to contain her copious tears. I put my arms around her and pulled her gently to me. She was rigid with her arms folded against her stomach and her head hard against my chest. I felt the throbbing of her heart and the erratic rise and fall of her breasts as she cried.

Father smiled at me and winked, telling me I was dealing with Fancy in a manner he approved. Patience smiled softly at me, silently thanking me for tenderness with her daughter. Ebony wore a small smile, but I felt she was miffed with her younger sister and the tumult she was causing.

I held Fancy until she cried herself out and rested limply on my chest. I pushed her back and held her with a hand on each of her small shoulders as I said, "You don't have to come to me if you don't want to, Fancy. You can be my servant without being my mistress, you know." She nodded. "But no man may touch you, not even a peck on your cheek, without my permission. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Robert," she whispered.

"Good. Don't be afraid of me unless you have done something to cause your fear. You're a smart girl. You'll know if you've been bad."

"I understand, Master Robert. I won't be bad."

"I'm starved," Father said.

His words broke the tension and motivated the women to action. I plopped down in a chair and Ebony rushed to remove my boots as Patience did with Father's. Fancy hurried to prepare a small feast. Our three slaves stood and tended to our needs as we ate.

Once the repast was through, Patience said, "This house has two bedrooms. If it pleases our masters, may I suggest we repair for the night?"

"It pleases me no end," Father said.

"And it pleases me," I said. "Fancy." When I called her name, she popped to attention. "You can stay in here or join Ebony and me in the bedroom, whichever you wish."

She looked at her mother for guidance. "Master Robert is a loving man, baby," Patience said to her. "You can trust what he says and answer him as you want."

"May I stay in here, Master Robert?" Fancy asked fearfully.

"Of course. Goodnight," I said to her. I stood to take my leave.

"Goodnight, Master Robert," she answered as she half curtsied to me.

I said goodnight to Father and Patience, took Ebony's hand with the intention of dragging her to the bedroom, but she outpaced me, pulled me into the bedroom instead, and closed the door after us.

The bedroom was small but sufficient, with a modest fire simmering in the fireplace to ward off the damp. There were windows on two sides and a narrow door opening to a stone path of twenty or so paces leading to the necessary outer-house. I availed myself of those facilities and when I returned, Ebony was perched on the edge of the wing chair near the bed.

She offered to disrobe me, but I said to wait. Her bright and eager eyes drank me in as I undressed to the bottom of my long johns. I wiggled a finger at her. She giggled as she jumped up to stand before me.

"Are you wearing your sponge?" I asked.

"Yes, Master Robert," she said.

"You must always wear it with me." She nodded her head. "And now that I own you, there will be no other men for you, Ebony. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Master Robert. That's the way it should be," she said sweetly.

The sponge was something else Father had explained on the long ride from Ironwood. It was designed to inhibit pregnancy and had been used since the ancient days of Israel, he said. The woman inserted the sponge into her vagina, snug against her cervix to absorb the life-creating sperm I would leave there. He also suggested I use a catching safe, a sheep's intestine membrane snug around my manhood to double our mechanical resolves, for neither of them was foolproof. I, however, wished my manhood to feel her womanhood unencumbered this first time, at least.

I followed one last piece of Father's advice, given when I asked about the mechanics of the act itself.

"Ebony, when we are together alone like this, we are not master and slave. We are man and woman. I want you to free your woman's fire to please me and yourself."

"Am I your first, Master Robert?" she asked as her finger trailed up from my stomach to my breast, sending shivers through me. It was the first time she touched me of her own volition. I nodded, somewhat embarrassed to be the novice between us. Her fingers stroked my manhood "Oh, Master Robert, you're going to love what we do."

Ebony was not a deferring slave in bed, but a wanton of Biblical proportions and a marvelous teacher intent and eager to share her knowledge and herself without hesitation or reserve. She allowed me to explore her as I chose until my exploration ignited fires in her that she demanded, in crude expletives, be tended without delay. I quenched those fires with my special and thick white waters. Yet, they smoldered in both of us and required a return by me into her to extinguish the heat.

I was surprised by the jutting nature of her derriere, which she explained was common to black women, and pleased by the large, soft bounty of her breasts, of which she was understandably proud. The thick thatch between her legs felt like no hair, human or animal, I had encountered. The folds of her sex were a pink flower that opened at my gentlest touch and emitted its pungent perfume.

Her fervent urgings, uttered in the heat of battle in an earthy black patois rather than the proper English she used in conversation, were stimulating and rewarding to say the least. Yet, except for my own rewards, I was most pleased by her comments as to my skills and her joy in them.

-------

I awakened the next morning to cover my nakedness and make the trip to the outer-house. Upon my return, I found Ebony sprawled on my bed. I kissed her neck and nibbled my way down to suckle her breast.

She moaned. "Morning, baby," she said softly. She gasped and jerked away. "Master Robert, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that to you," she said contritely.

"Shush. I said we are man and woman in here."

She chuckled deep down in her throat and wrapped her arms around my neck. "Does my baby want some more loving?" she asked.

Had Father's banging on the door come a minute sooner, he would have interrupted us at a critical moment. As it was, I responded quickly to bathe and dress in preparation of Edward Whitfield's funeral. We arrived at The Manor accompanied by Patience, Ebony, and Fancy, each in the simple, gray, cotton dresses of slaves.

Mrs. Whitfield and Jane Marie waited on the porch where the funeral procession would begin. Mr. Stanley Burlingame, Mr. Whitfield's solicitor, and Parson Simonton, the Anglican priest who would be saying the service, attended them. Both ladies were dressed from head to toe in black, including black veils over their faces. Their veils were not the heavy quality I had seen worn to some funerals, but a fine gauze that allowed others to see their faces.

Both replied when we bade them good morning. Mrs. Whitfield coolly said to Father, "May I see you, Bruce?" It was more command than request.

I joined him, walking to the porch to stand between Mrs. Whitfield and her daughter, who whispered good morning and squeezed my hand warmly.

"I don't want that whore and her bastard children at my husband's funeral," Mrs. Whitfield hissed at Father.

"Edward wanted it," Father replied.

"He is dead and unable to speak his mind," she snapped.

"It's in the will," Mr. Burlingame interjected.

"The will be damned," Mrs. Whitfield barked, turning her full fury on the elderly lawyer. "I will not endure this. I will not."

Father leaned forward to whisper in her ear. She pulled away. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and pulled her toward him. She resisted. He continued until the corded tendons on the back of his hand popped out. Her face was red from resistance before he overpowered her and held her still to listen to his whisperings. I don't know what he said, but she relented.

As was proper and common, the wagon carrying Mr. Whitfield's coffin, draped in black crepe and pulled by matched dark-skinned horses, slowly stopped in front of The Manor. The Widow Whitfield, her daughter, and the priest descended the porch steps to take their place at the head of the procession. Father, Mr. Burlingame, and I followed immediately behind them, with the other guests queuing behind us. The black-robed slave driving the wagon made a clicking sound and gently popped the reins. The giant draft horses lumbered forward, leading us all toward the Whitfield family graveyard, wherein lay the parents of Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, Mr. Whitfield's older brother who died as a child, and the son stillborn to Mrs. Whitfield before Jane Marie's birth. Patience and her daughters were last in the funeral procession.

Parson Simonton said the proper words over Mr. Whitfield's coffin while his widow and her daughter by him sat graveside, and his mistress and her two daughters by him stood not too far away. Of the five women he left, none cried as he was laid to rest, which divulged more about Mr. Whitfield than any man's words. Sad indeed is the death of a man unmourned.

The Manor overflowed with people who came from far and wide to pay their last respects, for weddings and funerals were the two primary functions where neighbors gathered to socialize. The Manor's house staff was overburdened and the three MacKenzie house slaves in attendance assisted in the serving.

When I joined the gathered throng, Mr. Obadiah Martin of Briarlands shook my hand warmly and introduced me to his wife. "I understand we can anticipate a wedding announcement, Robert," Mrs. Martin said.

It was, for me, another rare moment, for on prior occasions I had been considered a child and now I was an adult in the midst of adults, treated with civility, not ignored, talked with, not at, included in discussions of weather and crops and the value of slaves. Mr. Martin graciously instructed me to call him and his wife by their Christian names, confirming they considered me an adult and social equal.

I quickly found Jane Marie chatting with two ladies who were bending her ears with advice on weddings. When I interrupted and took Jane Marie's hand, she looked at me with a sparkle and warmth too long absent from her visage. I guided her outside and down the steps of the front porch to the shade of a stand of ornamental trees in the soft grass between the roadways.

There I took her hands in mine as we faced each other. "We have been pledged in marriage," I said.

"I know," she answered.

"Nothing could make me happier. I love you, Jane Marie." Her bright eyes glittered at me. "I must ask, for my own knowledge and nothing else, for our marriage is as sure as Spring rain, but..." My head was light and my heart pounding. "Would you have married me without our parents' pledge?"

"Why don't you ask and see?" she teased.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes, Bobby. I'll marry you. I love you, too. I love you with all my heart."

She raised her head to be kissed. Jane Marie and I had kissed when we were children, wet play kisses from one tyke to another. We had kissed as friends might, or cousins, soft closed-lipped pecks on the cheek, but this was our first real kiss as man and woman. I heard the songs of Angels and felt the warm caresses of Heaven's clouds.

We rejoined the adults and mingled, receiving congratulations early for the formal announcement of our nuptials had not yet been made. Jane Marie and I held hands throughout. That touch and the light brushing of our bodies, a constant reminder of our friendship and love, stimulated my ever-conscious desire to have her in my bed and share with her those special skills I had only learned last night.

When Ebony approached us bearing a silver tray of canapés, I, for an instant, wondered if Jane Marie was aware of my frenetic dance with her half-sister, or if she might read from our respective demeanors the relationship we shared. She was aware our three slaves shared the guest house with us last night, which was unusual unless for carnal reasons.

If she knew, it did not show. When Ebony said, "Canapés, ma'am," her eyes were diverted and her manner servile.

"Are you all right, Ebony?" Jane Marie asked solicitously.

"Fine, ma'am. Thank you."

"How's Fancy?" Jane Marie continued.

Ebony hesitated before replying, "Fine, thank you, ma'am."

"Ebony, don't lie to me. What's wrong?" Jane Marie said, but the rebuke was given lovingly.

Ebony looked at us both for the first time. "She's in the butler's pantry crying." Ebony's eyes cut to me and quickly returned to Jane Marie. "Having Master Edward gone and belonging to a new master has upset her, ma'am."

"Thank you, Ebony. I'll talk to her," Jane Marie said. Ebony half curtsied and moved to offer the hor d'ourves to another guest. "Are you coming with me?" Jane Marie asked.

"Of course. She is my slave."

I could not comprehend her expression before she turned away to lead me toward the kitchen.

We found Fancy sitting on a small stool in the dark corner of the butler's pantry, crying softly into a white kitchen cloth. Jane Marie squatted by her, taking Fancy's hands in her own, and gently shushing her.

"Everything will be all right, honey," Jane Marie said with a surprising tenderness. Fancy didn't look at her. Jane Marie stood and pulled Fancy to her feet. Seeing their profiles as they stood face to face reinforced my opinion they shared a family resemblance. "Do you want to go to my room and lie down?" Jane Marie said, brushing a tear from Fancy's cheek.

"No, thank you, Janey," Fancy said.

"Keeping busy is good for you so go back to work. And quit worrying. I'll see that Master Robert is good to you." Fancy gave a small half-smile. "Go on then," Jane Marie said.

I was surprised by the familiarity with which Fancy addressed her mistress. Not that it occurred, because sometimes a master allowed it, but, rather, that Jane Marie allowed it, particularly in light of her own mother's venomous attitude toward Fancy.

We watched Fancy return to her labors. When Jane Marie took my hand, she again gave me a glance I did not understand. She squeezed my hand once before rejoining the wake.

By mid-afternoon, the funeral throng had dwindled to those who could safely make it home that day since no nearby accommodations were available. By sunset, all were gone except for Mr. Burlingame and our entourage. Mrs. Whitfield was exhausted as was everyone else, including the staff. She asked us to join her for breakfast the next morning to discuss business matters, and we agreed. She bade us good night and excused herself.

"I think I'll retire, too," Father said. He glanced at me. I glanced at Jane Marie.

She said, "Please stay and talk to me a while, Robert."

"I'd love to," I replied.

The Manor had two large swings, one seating two and the other three, at the west end of the front porch with three rockers nearby. We had oil lamps by the front door and the moon for light. I sat in the two-person swing with my intended beside me. The evening was cooling and not yet damp, so Jane Marie wore a white cotton shawl over her bare shoulders.

"We haven't set our wedding date," I said.

"I think Mother plans to do that in the morning. When do you want it to be?"

"As soon as possible," I replied.

"Why?"

I felt a blush rise, for my mind had exploded with carnal visions of Jane Marie and her hidden treasures soon to be mine. She giggled and stroked my face.

"I, too, wish we were already man and wife," she said and her loving, sparkling face made my heart leap in joy. "I want to be married next month."

"Can your dress be made that quickly?"

"It's almost complete. I've been planning this for a long time, Bobby."

"Oh?"

"Since I was five or six."

"Was I the last to know we were to wed?"

She laughed like the tinkling of bells. "Not the very last."

"So all the consternation you've given me was a ruse."

"Ruse? Why, Bobby, how could you think that of me?" she asked with an exaggerated innocence giving lie to the question. She giggled with her fingers covering her lips and her eyes teasing mischievously.

We held hands and talked, discussing important matters interspersed amongst the trivial, but we didn't discuss Fancy and I waited for her to open that matter. As the evening wound down and the time to depart drew closer, I brought up the subject.

"I was surprised at Fancy's familiarities with you," I said.

"Why? She is my half-sister." She watched me like a hunting hawk. "You knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes. Father told me yesterday."

"I've known for years. Ebony is my half-sister, too, and while I do care for her, I don't feel as strongly toward her as I do Fancy. Ebony is older and stronger. She can take care of herself. Mother hates all three of them, as you saw, and wants me to hate them, too. She instructed me to demand you sell all of them in the Savannah markets."

"Savannah? That's the harshest slave market in the South," I said.

"So I've been told, but that's what she wants. She is not pleased you and your father bought them. If she had her way, they would be flayed and sold in short order."

"Are you pleased we acquired them?"

"Yes, I am, Bobby. Very pleased. They are good slaves and pleasant to have around, and, well, I feel strongly about Fancy."

"Why?"

She looked away, staring into the darkness. "Look. A firefly. And another," she said.

I accepted her not too subtle change of direction in the conversation and joined her in an observation and discussion of fireflies, allowing her, I hoped, to gather her thoughts and return to the matter at hand. However, the discussion drifted in other directions until she stifled a yawn and we both knew it was time to part. I escorted her to her door, kissed her, told her again I loved her, and bade her good night.

The guest house was dark except for the flickering flames from the fire in the center room when I quietly entered. Ebony and Fancy were lying in front of the fire, apparently asleep. I slipped into my bedroom to find a small fire and turned back bed awaiting me. I partially disrobed, utilized the outer-house, and returned to find Ebony standing by my bed, wearing a sleeping gown and thin robe.

"Do you want me tonight?" she asked.

"Of course," I replied.

She dropped the robe, slipped the gown over her head, and tossed it aside. Ebony had an open sensuality as if her nakedness and anticipated pleasure with me were nature's way. To be correct, it was nature's way, but society placed bonds on our behaviors, restricting us all. She smiled slyly as she put my hands on her breasts and began to undress me.

I rubbed her nipples with my thumbs and she moaned, "Oh, I like that."

Her breasts were big as gourds and weighty as I hefted them in my hands. They were soft, not like a feather bed, but more pliable than even the flesh of her inner thighs.

"You like playing with my bubbies?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I like you doing it, Master."

When she finished undressing me, she sat on the bed and pulled me to sit beside her.

"You're a sweet man, Master, and last night pleased me, but..." Her fingernail slid along my leg from knee to crotch and stroked the underside of my manhood. "You held yourself back, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I felt your fighting your urges, restraining your needs."

I did not answer her at once and she waited until I said, "So?"

"So, it's more fun for you and for me if you let go," she said. "Hold down my hands and drive your big cock deep into my cunt. Do me hard. As hard as you can."

"I might hurt you," I said.

"Oh, I'll be sore in the morning, but I'll love it tonight."

I was taught gentlemen, of whom I was one, were not violent with ladies. True, Ebony was a slave-girl and slave-girls were not ladies, but, as Father said, a woman is a woman, free or slave, white or black.

She sensed my confusion and interrupted my contemplation by taking my hand in both of hers. She gently opened it until my fingers extended, and kissed my palm. She put her wrist in my hand and closed my fingers around it. She jerked her arm and pulled free.

"Don't let me go. Hold on to my arm," she said as she folded my fingers around her wrist again. She jerked to free herself but I held firm. "That's better. Now listen to me, baby. I want to resist you and struggle in your arms. Will you let me do that?"

"If you like."

"Oh, I love it."

"You want me to take you against your will?" I asked.

"I'm not a slave-girl unwillingly taking her master's weight, or a free woman being raped. I have said, 'Yes, I want you.' But all women, black and white, like our man to be strong in bed. We like to be taken, to be held down and fucked until we are sagging and spent."

"By any man?" I asked.

"Some women like having any man take them, but I don't and most women don't either. We like it only after we've said yes." She chuckled and kissed me again with her hot tongue flicking into my mouth. "I know it's confusing, but you'll learn to read our signs. Until you do, this woman will tell you what she wants. Understand?"

"I think so."

"Then do it."

"Get on your back," I said without emotion.

She kissed me softly on the lips. "That's not it, baby. If you want me tonight, you need to make me do it."

Her hands were resting on her legs. I took a wrist in each hand and forced them apart as she resisted.

"Come on, baby, don't stop."

I pulled and she yielded, although not easily, until her arms were spread. Her eyes were wild as her tongue flicked across her lips. "The stallion takes the mare. The bull takes the cow. The man takes the woman," she said in a high, sing-song voice. "Hurry, my man. Take me," she growled gutturally.

A vision of Palmetto, my thoroughbred stallion, at his last mating flashed in my mind. My cock surged between my legs, throwing a lightening bolt to sear my brain. I slammed her backward on the bed and drove myself into her.

"Oh, sweet God, that's the way," she exclaimed.

She grunted and twisted under me as I held her down. A true struggle by her to dislodge my cock so snug within her would be a violent, disharmonic clash, but this was harmony of motion, like a feverish dance as we thrust and parried, one to the other.

"You're fucking me so good, baby."

Her climaxes, easily ignited and lustily relished, came soon and often, until she felt the swelling of my manhood that signaled my own reward and clamped her love scabbard tightly around my sword.

"Oh, fuck, yes. Yes. Yes."

I felt my own bodily contortions as the excruciating thrill of my sexual pump's powerful gush came forth from me to extinguish both our flames.

"Oh, baby, you keep getting better and better," she cooed as I stared down into her blissful, sweat-covered face.

A memory leapt into my mind's eye-a memory of Jane Marie over a year ago. Her unmerciful teasing had only begun. I reacted as I am now sure she wished, by chasing her through the grass until I caught her and wrestled her to the ground. I pinned her wrists over her head that day and saw the wild excitement in her eyes until we both suddenly realized I was on her and between her legs, which is something unmarried ladies and gentlemen do not do, even when fully clothed. I rolled off her, embarrassed by my forwardness.

"Beast," she had said insincerely. The sly look from the corner of her eye confirmed her ire was to fulfill society's pretenses and not her own desires.

I released Ebony's wrists and lay my head down on her. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her fingers stroked my back. Awash in sweat and secretions, we slept in a cabin of aromatic air.



-------

Chapter 3: Whitlands


Father and I arose early to bathe by moonlight in the cool waters of the pond behind The Manor. Fancy held an oil lamp and exerted considerable effort to avoid looking at us. I thought it strange she was reticent to see our male equipment when Ebony was anxious to both see and take a man inside herself.

Dawn found us dressed and ready to meet with Overseer Witherspoon, a sour, fat white-man, before our later breakfast meeting with Mary Elizabeth Whitfield. We instructed Patience, Ebony, and Fancy to ready our baggage and all their possessions for the return trip to Ironwood, for we planned to leave immediately upon the latter meeting's completion.

Plantations, successful ones at least, do not begin their day with the rising of the sun. By sunrise, they buzz like a beehive, with all slaves fed and at their work - the field slaves in the field, the seamstresses at their sewing, the cooks in their kitchen cleaning up from the first meal of the day and preparing for the others, and the servants polishing and readying the house for the Master and Mistress. At Ironwood, the blacksmiths sweated in the bright heat of the forge during the dead of night to avoid the added heat of the day. Yet, at Whitlands, all was quiet and calm before dawn, our first sign the plantation was improperly operated.

Witherspoon was waiting for us in front of The Manor, hat in hand and his demeanor shouting his discomfort. Within a few minutes, Father and I had ascertained his management was shoddy and his organization misfitted to the many tasks to be performed. Within an hour, we had a solid idea of necessary changes. We instructed him to have the buckboard loaded and waiting, and Liberty ready for the trip. We then returned to The Manor's front porch to sit and discuss what we had learned.

Father had begun my tutelage in farm management as early as I could remember. At an age when most children played with a nanny, I accompanied him to meetings or to evaluate fields or buy horses or cattle. I was instructed to save my questions until he and I were alone, and I complied, but once alone he never failed to take the time necessary to fully answer all I asked.

My schooling included monographs on farming as well as the classics. More importantly, I did all the farm chores, sometimes working under Father's or Jonah's practiced eye until I dropped where I stood, too exhausted to move. I can remember Father carrying me in his arms when I was younger, to lay me down on my bed as I was dressed and cover me over to sleep. The other sub-overseers, who were also slaves, took an interest in my education as well, proudly sharing their particular skills with me.

I relished it all-the knowledge, the experiences, the challenges, and, most importantly, Father's attention and approval. He did not hesitate to tell me when I erred and when I succeeded, delivering all comments in a positive manner intended to speed my own development. For my part, I was an active and eager student, absorbing instruction like a sponge.

While I had much to learn, I felt confident, as we sat on Whitland's porch that day, in discussing any farm issue with him. We agreed Whitlands was sorely in need of new hands on its reins.

I heard the soft click of leather heels on the porch's oaken timbers and turned to see Jane Marie, who was dressed in white, her black hair bound high on her head.

"Good morning, beautiful lady," I said to her as I stood.

"Good morning, Bobby. Good morning, Mr. MacKenzie," she replied. She took my hands, raised her lips to mine, and gave me a quick kiss. "Breakfast is ready, gentlemen," she said.

We accompanied her inside to the dining room to find Mrs. Whitfield and Mr. Burlingame waiting for us. Each bade us good morning before Mrs. Whitfield graciously asked Father to take the head of the table and I the foot. She placed herself on Father's right and Jane Marie at mine, with Mr. Burlingame on Father's left.

Jane Marie's dress was a simple frock - thin straps over her shoulders, a wide pink ribbon under her breasts that continued around and tied in back, and a free flowing skirt below the ribbon. She was a beautiful vision. Mrs. Whitfield was dressed more formally, heavily corseted to narrow her waist and lift her ample bosom, no doubt to attract the male eye.

As the servants served us a typical plantation breakfast of eggs, bacon, biscuits with butter and jam, and strong tea, we passed small talk. My beloved was sparkling, with bright happy eyes. Mr. Burlingame was reserved and professional. Father was his normal vigorous self.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Whitfield demonstrated a warmth of heart and lightness of spirit I had never observed in her, as if a heavy weight was gone from her soul. I contemplated Father's comments and my observations of her, especially at Mr. Whitfield's funeral where she shed no tears and appeared to be relieved when his coffin was in the grave.

Watching her interplay with Father, I realized they were flirting, and, while she took the lead, he matched her measure for measure, joyfully participating in their play. It dawned on me that he had long lived his life as a widower, seeking sexual fulfillment in the slave-mistresses he chose to warm his bed, and had neither sought nor found a woman of his class to share his life. I had always thought him complete, but maybe he had a void needing to be filled. He certainly had opportunities to find a new wife. His friends often appeared at Ironwood, one or more couples for parties or simply an evening or two, but always with an extra woman in tow to be introduced to him as a possible wife.

When breakfast was over and the sweet cakes served, Father changed the conversation by saying, "We have a wedding to plan. Have you two talked about it?"

"Yes, Father," I replied. "We would like to be married as soon as possible."

"Why?" Mrs. Whitfield asked.

I was not presumptuous enough to say what was in my mind, for that would be, "Because your daughter and I are quite anxious to frolic in bed." Rather I said, "We are ready to begin our life together, Mrs. Whitfield."

She looked at her daughter and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, we are, Mother. We were thinking of the middle of April," Jane Marie said.

"Oh, my, that is much too early," Mrs. Whitfield exclaimed. "We have cakes to make and The Manor to ready. And dresses? How is Cleopatra doing on your dress?"

"Further along than you realize. If she could devote full time to it, it would be ready in a week," Jane Marie answered.

"She doesn't have that kind of time," Mrs. Whitfield demurred.

"Ironwood and I would happily provide additional seamstresses to speed the conclusion of the dresses, and our house staff could be made available to assist in The Manor's readying," Father said.

"Thank you, Mr. MacKenzie. We accept," Jane Marie interjected before her mother could answer.

"So mid- to late-April is acceptable as a date?" I asked.

"I don't think so," Mrs. Whitfield replied. "You two are rushing things."

"As would I," Father said with a gentle smile. "Relent, Mary Elizabeth, and let them have their April wedding. Surely you remember the terrible impetuosity of youth?"

"Only too well, Bruce." She exhaled and studied the plate on the table before her before gazing at us once again. "All right. April it is, but you three have manipulated me into this and I expect full and complete support in the preparations."

After we all pledged our cooperation, the wedding date was set for the last Saturday in April, a scant six weeks away. When Mr. Burlingame suggested the rapidity of the wedding might encourage some to think the bride was in a family way, Jane Marie bristled and stated time would prove such gossip to be both incorrect and malicious.

Another piece of advice Father had given me on our long ride from Ironwood was to let the women take the lead in planning the wedding and object only if some factor was onerous to me. With agreement reached as to the actual date of the service itself, our discussion proceeded that way, with mother and daughter discussing and Father and I agreeing. The wedding planning was complete as to this part that needed our male input. Much was still to be done, but the ladies and their staffs would deal with the details.

Father started to change the conversation, but Jane Marie interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mr. MacKenzie, but I have one more matter - a very important matter - concerning my wedding, which I feel we must address now. I want Patience, Ebony, and Fancy to be invited."

"No," her mother said stonily.

"Yes, mother," Jane Marie said firmly. "I would rather have them present and no other guests than them not attend."

I knew Jane Marie was a strong-willed and high-spirited woman and felt assured we would clash from time to time as we traveled the road of life together, but at that moment I was proud of her for addressing an issue important to her and doubly proud for her confrontation of her mother. Her tight squeezing of my hand beneath the table told me it was not easy for her. But her lovely jaw was set and the fire in her eyes equaled the storm in her mother's.

Mrs. Whitfield girded her loins and began to speak, her right index finger poised to thrust like a rapier.

"Mary Elizabeth," Father said quietly but with a commanding firmness. "Why don't we defer this particular question until later?"

We three observers waited with baited breath as the combatants faced each other in silent conflict. When I saw her look down and her shoulders sag an inch, I knew Father had won this battle but the war had just begun.

"Certainly, Bruce. It was not I who raised the issue," Mrs. Whitfield said.

All eyes were on Jane Marie. I silently mouthed, "Later" to her, and she said a begrudging, "All right. We can defer it to later."

Father directed the conversation to Whitlands' operations. He made it clear, and Mr. Burlingame confirmed without reservation, that management of Whitlands was his and no one else's for the period of five years as his contract with Mr. Whitfield provided. I had no problems with this arrangement. Father not only shared Ironwood's books of accounts with me, he had taught me how to prepare and understand them. Ironwood was indeed profitable. I had full confidence in Father's ability to manage Whitlands and my ability to do so under his direction.

When questioned as to his plans for the conduct of Whitlands' business, he demurred, saying his plans were incomplete, and the others didn't press the matter.

Father once again redirected us. "Have you told Jane Marie about Edward's will?" he asked.

"I've told her enough," Mrs. Whitfield replied.

"You haven't mentioned it to me, Mother," Jane Marie said.

"Now isn't a good time to discuss it," her mother said.

Father wrapped his large, rough hand over Mrs. Whitfield's small, soft one and said, "I think we should do it now because Stanley is here to guide our understanding."

The battle was shorter this time. She capitulated to Father and instructed Mr. Burlingame to explain the ramifications of Mr. Whitfield's will.

In essence, Whitlands and all its assets, including The Manor, were bequeathed to Jane Marie in trust, with only a stipend from Whitlands' profits and her personal possessions being left to Mrs. Whitfield. Mr. Burlingame was trustee of Jane Marie's estate until she married, at which time the trust terminated and the assets became the direct property of Jane Marie and her husband, which, under South Carolina law, the husband managed. Mr. Burlingame summarized the situation by saying that while Jane Marie owned Whitlands, and she and Mrs. Whitfield shared Whitlands' profits, Father's contract of management gave him sole authority over operations until his contract terminated.

Essentially, Mrs. Whitfield was to be homeless and without sufficient funds to maintain her quality of life, unless her daughter - and the daughter's husband after marriage - provided for her well-being, or unless she remarried and moved to the home of her new husband.

The impact of the new economic relationship between mother and daughter left both dumb as they considered its implications.

I watched Father studying the Widow Whitfield with a singular intensity. I wondered if he played a part in Mr. Whitfield's leaving his wife in this unenviable position, and, if so, were his machinations to bring Whitlands to our family or Mrs. Whitfield to his side? If not, was Father only availing himself of an opportunity?

Father certainly was capable of such shrewdness, although I did not think him capable of a callous disregard for Mrs. Whitfield and her well-being. Mrs. Whitfield was an attractive and socially adept woman with only her vituperous nature against her. Father's comments about her were not unlike my own about Jane Marie, raising the question if he, too, was enamored with a woman and frustrated with her behavior.

For her part, I wondered if Mrs. Whitfield's desire to postpone the wedding was to postpone her day of reckoning, for surely she anticipated maneuvering Jane Marie for her own benefit as long as Jane Marie was single.

"Mother and I should discuss this later," Jane Marie said.

Mrs. Whitfield shivered from the coolness in her daughter's tone. She turned to Father who smiled reassuringly and squeezed her hand.

"It is time for us to depart," he said. "I'll return Friday to begin my management of the operations here. In the meantime, Witherspoon will continue as he has been."

"We'll have the guest house ready for you," Mrs. Whitfield replied. "Will Robert be joining you?"

"Yes, he will."

"And your slaves?" The question appeared innocent, but was not.

"I'd like to see Ebony and Fancy," Jane Marie interjected.

"Then they will come," I said and Mrs. Whitfield's eyes scolded me.

"Robert, shall we take our leave?" Father asked me as he stood.

Witherspoon was in front of The Manor holding Liberty's reins. Father spoke with him before mounting. A slave held the reins of the buckboard with our three acquisitions, their few possessions, and our own baggage aboard. To Mrs. Whitfield's chagrin, Jane Marie rushed to Ebony and Fancy and whispered something to them. When she finished, I kissed my intended good-bye, climbed into the driver's seat, and took the reins.

Father doffed his hat and bowed to Mrs. Whitfield, received a sincere smile tinged with concern and a nod of her head in return, and spurred Liberty down the road. I popped the reins, called to my team, and followed.

We maintained a hard and steady pace for several hours before Father signaled a halt and dismounted beside the road near a small pond. He instructed the slaves to water the horses. As they lugged the water bucket to and from the pond, Father and I walked a bit to both ease our backsides and distance ourselves from their ears.

"Have you divined my intentions?" he asked.

"It may be presumptuous of me to give my thoughts," I replied.

"Presume," he commanded.

"You are going to marry Mrs. Whitfield, move her to Ironwood with you, and leave Jane Marie and me at Whitlands."

"My God, was I that transparent?" he chuckled. "I think not. I think you are that shrewd," he complimented. "What else?"

"You know I need a good and strong hand to assist me, so you will provide a new overseer you trust for Whitlands."

"Who?"

"Jonah."

"Who will oversee Ironwood?"

"James," I replied, referring to the assistant overseer.

"Well done. You are correct on all counts," he said. "Now let me tell you why I want to wed a shrew like Mary Elizabeth Whitfield."

His desire to wed her did not surprise me, although his voicing the desire did bring me to a halt for a moment. He turned to face me and his face was intense.

"Edward and Mary Elizabeth had a marriage made in Hell, as I am sure you are aware. Their mutual dislike began early and grew until it was a venomous hatred. I, more than anyone else, knew the depth of their feelings for they both chose to take me into their confidence. Because our fathers were friends, Edward and I knew each other since childhood and we shared the common bond of farm ownership. Mary Elizabeth had no other ear to bend and I was a good listener."

Father stared at me with such intensity and for such a length of time as to bring me severe discomfort. "I think I can trust you with these confidences, Robert, which I share only to explain my position and clarify circumstances impacting you."

"You know me better than to question my silence," I said. I was wounded he thought me unworthy of his confidence.

"I'm sorry," he replied sincerely. "Yes, I know I can trust you." He looked away to gather his thoughts. "Do you understand the implications of adultery?"

"Other than 'Thou shall not commit adultery, ' I do not," I answered.

"The ancient Israelites were given that dictum, passed it on to us, and the State of South Carolina, indeed most of the states, have carried it into law and provided severe penalties for those who violate it. Juries have further modified the law until today men are never prosecuted for adultery unless issues of class and race impact the situation. For women, the law provides severe retribution and the juries have gone farther. No man has ever been punished for any action taken against his wife for her adultery and only a few times has the husband been punished for actions taken against his wife's lover."

"He can do anything with her?" I asked.

"Yes, from divorce to whipping to killing her. Legally, it is a one-sided issue, but the emotional penalties are as severe as the legal ones and as varied as the participants. Adultery can quickly drain the heart, leaving it dry and brittle or worse, make it a continually bleeding and festering sore."

Father hesitated, as he is prone to do in these revelations, and I patiently waited.

"Edward believed Mary Elizabeth was an adulteress and he believed it for years."

"Was she?" I asked.

"She was not. I'm sure of that."

"Then why did he think it?"

"He told me she possessed a large carnal appetite and a ribald enjoyment of pleasures of the flesh. He believed no woman of her position could be that sexual and remain loyal to her husband, which is, unfortunately, a commonly held misconception. It is a foolish untruth because neither race nor class dictates enjoyment of one's sexuality, and the notion presupposes the woman has no honor or strength of will, but Edward believed it and that was enough for him."

"Why didn't he divorce her or turn her over to the authorities?"

"He did not divorce to avoid the embarrassment of appearing to be a cuckold and he did not call in the authorities for he had no proof. Instead, he punished her in his own cruel and insidious way."

"Look at our three slaves," he continued. We both turned to watch those women. "Fancy is a sexless and frightened little mouse. Ebony is a wanton. If she were white, she would be a courtesan or a prostitute, depending on her status and circumstances. Patience is a beautiful lady with a well-developed sensuality she understands and, more importantly, enjoys. If she were white, men would make a week's ride to court her and lay fortunes at her feet as an incentive to wed, but she is black and a slave. She understands her slavery, accepts it graciously, and is fulfilled being the mistress of a white man she trusts to protect and provide for her.

"While Patience's body is slave, her feminine heart is free. Edward made Mary Elizabeth a slave, binding her feminine heart with society's mores and the web he wove around her to restrain her more tightly than steel or ropes. Surely, her unhappy prison makes her poorer than the slave-woman he threw in her face, for Mary Elizabeth must face the world appearing to be free yet shackled beneath the scold's mask she wears. Despite the years of her husband's treatment, I believe Mary Elizabeth's heart is not empty, but contains an untapped store of love and desire only waiting for the right man to insert the key and partake of her bounty. I want to be that man."

Father studied me as he spoke and, while I tried to affect a blandness of expression, I had not yet mastered my face's reflections of my thoughts.

"Go ahead, Son, say it," Father said.

"How do you know she didn't commit adultery?"

"Two years after your mother's death, I offered myself to her. I even proposed that I approach Edward about a divorce, buying her freedom if need be. She rejected the idea, saying she would not seek divorce no matter how difficult her circumstances and she would never stoop to adultery. I believed her. And I admired her for upholding her high standards in so onerous a situation. Now she is a widow and free to marry whomever she chooses. I will see she chooses me."

I pondered his comments as I watched the three slaves idly chatting beside the buckboard. It seemed Father was correct, for they appeared freer and happier than Mrs. Whitfield. Certainly, Ebony enjoyed our couplings with an uninhibited lust, and I suspected Patience did likewise with Father. This morning at breakfast as Mrs. Whitfield flirted with Father was the only time I could remember seeing joy on her face.

We rode hard the rest of day to arrive late at Ironwood. The plantation was asleep when we arrived, so Father, as was his practice, announced our arrival with a single shot from his pistol. Quickly, slaves arrived to transport baggage and care for the horses who had well-earned their rest. Eliza, James' wife, came running to assist Sarah in the house, if need be.

While we were gone, Sarah, Jonah's wife and our household manager, and her daughter, Constance Anne, stayed in the Great House with Elizabeth, my sister. Constance Anne was only three months older than Elizabeth and the two thirteen-year-olds were close.

Elizabeth bounded out of the house to welcome us, with Constance Anne close on her heels. Seeing the two together made me think of the relationship of Jane Marie and Fancy, but I had scant time to ponder as Elizabeth jumped on me, threw her arms around me, and gave me a sisterly kiss on the cheek before dropping to the ground and demanding an introduction to the three slaves we transported.

Before the storm passed and quiet returned, all were introduced to all. We arranged a meeting with Jonah and Sarah for the morning. Sarah then returned to her home and left Constance Anne to finish the night in Elizabeth's room, while Patience, Ebony and Fancy were ensconced in the small room formerly occupied by Pearly Bright.

I said goodnight to Fancy and Patience, told Ebony to follow me, and led her upstairs to the room that was mine since I was born. I had dreamed of having women in this room with me, and those women were as varied as my fertile imagination.

"This is your room?" she asked, peering around her.

"It is. And this is my bed."

"I'll be the first girl with you in that bed," she said happily. Ebony leered at me and I responded by reddening. "The first real girl. Did you think about women when you played with yourself, Master?" she teased as she leaned into me with her breasts against my chest and her hand cupping the growing bulge in my trousers.

"Yes, but tonight you will do the playing with me," I said.

"Of course." She began unbuttoning my tunic. "Tell me about some of your imaginary women, baby," she said.

At that moment, I was green with envy of her free and open carnality, but I did not wish to discuss my masturbatory fantasies with her. I changed the subject.

"You, Patience, and Fancy speak proper English unlike any other slaves I have known," I said. "Tell me about that."

"My grandmother was a house servant to a lawyer and his wife who insisted their slaves speak properly. Momma told me the slaves practiced for hours on end, and since she heard only proper English, it came easily for her. She lived there until she was twelve or so and her owner sold her to Mr. Whitfield's father who gave her to him. Like her own mother, Momma insisted we speak properly." She gently pushed me to sit down on the bed and knelt to remove my boots. "I can speak like the other slaves, if you prefer," she continued.

"No, I like the way you talk."

"Thank you, Master. Please stand." I stood and she began to unbutton my trousers. "Is Miss Janey one of the women in your mind who has been with you here?" she asked.

"Many times," I said with a sigh.

"She loves you," Ebony said and her tone confirmed she was stating a simple fact. "She dreams of you, too." She looked up at me and her dark eyes shone. "She thinks of you when she plays with herself."

"She what?" I exclaimed.

"Women play with themselves, Master. We do it all the time."

"I'd like to see that," I said.

"Tell me when, Master." She looked down to finish my buttons, tugged on my trousers, and I stepped out of them. "Who is Master thinking of now?" she whispered throatily as she caressed my rigid manhood when it popped free of its restraints.

"You."

"Not some other slave girl?"

"No. I'm thinking of you."

"But Master has thought about others with him in his room?"

"Yes."

"Did she look like me?"

"You are much prettier. And smarter. I suspect you please a man better than she."

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Ebony growled. "Master?"

"Yes?"

"When you thought of her, did you think of her doing this?" With a hand around my shaft, she touched her pursed lips to the crown of my manhood, and with excruciating slowness, inserted it into the wet hotness of her mouth, creating a new and delightful feeling adding to my rapidly growing repertoire of sexual pleasures.

Watching Ebony perform her magic as she knelt between my legs, I knew her supplication and the feeling of power it created in me was a significant part of my pleasure, as being taken was of hers.

"Stop," I commanded, and Ebony sat back from me, looking up with questioning eyes. "Undress," I said.

She rose, discarded her dress, knelt, and reached for my manhood. Quickly, she returned to her task and my needs flamed. I placed my hands on her head and urged her to take in more of me until my cock's head rested at the back of her throat. I pulled her head toward my crotch but my manhood made no further progress into her mouth.

When I ceased my pressure, she popped my cock from her mouth, and said, "I can't swallow it, baby. You're too big, but I can still please you this way."

She returned in earnest, making slurping sounds as tongue and lips and hands sped me toward a ready completion. I felt the surging in my loins and the fiery passage down my cock's length as my reward flowed out of me and into her willing mouth. I flopped back on the bed, pulling me from her. She crawled up and resumed her oral ministrations, which maintained the hardness of my lance.

"Mount me," I ordered.

In seconds, my cock wallowed in a wet heat of a different kind. I played with her large and soft breasts, watched the passion on her face, and listened to her soft but insistent groaning until my own needs demanded activity.

I pulled her off me, causing her to moan, "Oh, God, baby, don't stop." I opened her legs widely. With my hands behind her knees, I pressed them back against the bed, and held her that way as my slick manhood found her pinkness and thrust home.

"Oh, sweet Jesus, that's the way," she whimpered.

I was enamored with her expressions, for each movement of her sex on mine was reflected in her countenance. Her hands dug into the mattress as she tried to raise her hips to meet my thrusts, seeking that sure relief she enjoyed well and often. Like a lightning bolt, I realized the way I had mounted her prevented her hip movement, and with her legs kicking futilely in the air, she was unable to bring herself to climax.

She dug her nails into my sides and pleaded, "Faster, baby. Faster and harder."

"Put your hands behind your head," I commanded.

She groaned unhappily and complied. I varied the tempo of my thrusts, exploring, if you will, the effect of the delayed climax on us both. Ebony's mouth lolled open and her head rolled side to side as her hands crept to manipulate her breasts and pinch her teats more severely than I would have imagined.

We were a pot slowly building to the boiling point, with the accompanying generation of heat and percolating, erratic motions. I experienced a focus of need unlike any I'd ever experienced.

"Harder, Master. Fuck my cunt harder."

She growled and jammed her legs out, escaping my grasp and driving her feet into the mattress. Her nails dug into the flesh of my buttocks as she drove into me. I felt again the hot, hard flow of my juices into her as she began to buck in mindless ecstasy until she lay satiated.

"My Master fucks me better than any man ever could," she whispered.

-------

Father and I met with Jonah and Sarah the next morning. He owned them and could have commanded their move to Whitlands, but he did not. He offered them an opportunity, stating both rewards and anticipated problems. They were pleased and accepted.

Patience would be the new household manager at Ironwood. Sarah introduced her to the other house slaves and began training her for the position even though Patience needed no training. The Great House had been Sarah's to manage for thirteen years and she took pride in her accomplishments.

Jonah, Father, and I next met with Samuel and David, Jonah's and Sarah's sons, to offer each of them the opportunity to stay at Ironwood or move to Whitlands, for they possessed the skills, intelligence, and loyalty of their parents and deserved the right to make their own decision. Both evidenced their desire to move and I thanked them in advance for their contributions. We met with James to tell him of his promotion to overseer at Ironwood. He was enthusiastic and thanked us profusely.

Despite all that, the week and the transition had just begun. That night, exhausted by the day's activities, I fell into bed.

"Is my baby too tired to want his loving?" Ebony whispered to me as she knelt naked by my prone form.

My youth and relative newness to the joys of intercourse made me incapable of rejecting any offer, although my manhood lay still as death. I said, "Of course not."

Ebony's eyes gleamed as she said, "I know how to get my baby up for his loving."

I closed my eyes as Ebony's fingernails meandered slowly down my chest and stomach, and her tongue tickled my nipples.

"Suckle my teat," she whispered and I felt her breast brush my face. I sealed my lips around her rigid teat and sucked like a baby. "Ummm. That's nice," she whispered. Her nail-tips stroked the inside of my thighs before trailing over my manhood. She tugged my ball sack and slid her hand down my thigh to begin again. She pulled away to drag her wet teat down my body as she moved to my cock, taking it in her mouth to actively suck until it throbbed.

"I'm going to please you, baby," she murmured as she straddled my frame and slowly buried me into her wetness. "Do you like my hot cunt squeezing your cock, Master?' she whispered.

"Yes," I replied.

"I like it, too," she whispered as she slowly moved her the muscles within her cunt to play it on my cock.

I watched her face and lay supine, not even raising a hand to caress the melons of her breasts dangling in my face. For her part, she worked slowly, extending the pleasure for us both. The feeling was intense, yet the opposite of intense as negative is opposite to positive, for my desires so engendered were strong but without action by me. Suddenly, I felt the welling inside me and grabbed her hips as I thrust up into her.

She laughed bawdily. "Drive your big cock into me, Master," she groaned. Drive I did until I filled her. As if someone pulled a blanket over my head, the world slowly darkened. "That's it, baby. Sleep," she murmured. Her hand stroked my face and she gently kissed my forehead. "Sleep."

-------

The laws in South Carolina and other slave owning states prohibited the free movement of Negroes. Any Negro not in the company of a white was presumed to be an escaped slave and would be dealt with quickly and harshly. To allow movement of Negroes without a white companion, the laws provided for papers of passage to be given the Negro by his master to detail the reasons for the Negro's unaccompanied movement and other related necessary information.

On Friday morning before dawn, with papers in hand, Jonah and his family left for Whitlands with several wagons of supplies and their possessions. Ebony and Fancy traveled with them leaving Patience to mind Elizabeth and the Great House.

Father and I left before noon, he on Liberty, I on Palmetto, my mud-colored stallion. We passed Jonah and his party on the road and continued to Whitlands.

Jane Marie and her mother were awaiting our arrival, which, on the surface, seemed delightful. On further investigation, however, it became clear they were at loggerheads and each wanted to plead her case. Since I was soon to be the master of Whitlands, I was the man they wished to sway.

We asked them to wait until we refreshed from the hard ride. Later at the dinner table, sitting as we last sat, first Jane Marie, then Mrs. Whitfield, presented her case relative to the issue in question: living arrangements after Jane and I married, and the disposition of Patience, Ebony, and Fancy.

I shan't burden these pages with a complete transcription of their accounts, for, except for Jane Marie's revelation concerning her half-sisters, they are without value. As to that, Jane Marie sat on the edge of her chair with her hands folded in her lap to keep them from trembling as she spoke with honesty and intensity.

"I am close to Ebony and I do feel kinship with her, but Fancy is more. Much more. You know we were born only two days apart, I here in this house, she in a shack in the slave quarter. The same man sired us. The same midwife birthed us. Surely you have noticed we even look like sisters, complete to the freckles on our faces. In my heart, I truly feel she is my sister."

Mrs. Whitfield winced, her face distorted as if the smell of something putrid filled the air.

Jane Marie continued, saying, "We grew up together. Mother did not like that, I assure you, but we played and talked. I can remember once when we were six or so, Mother bought me a doll. When Fancy and I played, I saw she loved that doll, so I gave it to her. Mother accused her of stealing and ordered her to be punished, but I told the truth. Fancy wasn't whipped at the slave's tree, but my Mother's hand spanked me. A far worse punishment was keeping us apart, but with our father's assistance and blessing, we conspired to be together until Mother conceded and no longer separated us."

Jane Marie took a deep breath, holding it in as her eyes looked at each of us in turn. She exhaled and began again. "I have wondered as I lay in my big bed upstairs what she was enduring. I have wondered if she was the little white girl in the big house and I was the little black slave-girl, would she befriend and help and care for me? I know she would and I will do no less for her."

"You must be aware your father encouraged your relationship with Fancy not out of love for either of you, but to rebuke your mother?" Father said to her. Mrs. Whitfield nodded her silent concurrence.

"Please forgive me if I appear to be forward, Mr. MacKenzie, for I have the greatest respect for you. However, I believe that statement is untrue. I think our father loved us, for we both felt loved by him. Whether he did or did not makes no difference. We grew together, intertwining like the shoots of two shrubs until one cannot be pruned without pruning the other."

I was very proud of this strong and upright woman-girl who soon would become my wife and of the good heart that beat within her breast.

"How would you have us live, Jane Marie?" Mrs. Whitfield asked, her trepidation evident.

"I haven't discussed this with Bobby," Jane Marie said as she looked at me.

"Go ahead," I replied.

She said, "Since Bobby is to be Whitlands' manager, he must be on the plantation. Until our marriage, I propose he occupy the guest house. After our marriage, I propose we live here - in The Manor - which is the historical home of the plantation's owner. I would arrange permanent lodging for Ebony and Fancy here at Whitlands, either in a house built for them or in this house with us. Mother, you are welcome to continue living here, in the bedroom you now have or in the guest house as you prefer. I would never dispossess you."

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Whitfield said.

"Might I make a suggestion?" Father said. There were no objections, so he continued, saying, "Life with two mistresses under the same roof can be unpleasant for the mistresses and their staff. I know this from my own experience with my wife and mother both in the Great House at Ironwood after my father died. Mary Elizabeth, I suggest that you do not live in The Manor, both for your own comfort as well as that of the newlyweds. Living in the guest house on a permanent basis as my mother did at Ironwood seems to be the better choice."

Father waited, letting us digest his words.

"Or I have another idea, one that I personally prefer. You can come to Ironwood with me." The words sprang from him in a rush.

"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Whitfield exclaimed, clearly befuddled.

"Come to Ironwood with me," he repeated with a palatable intensity.

"Are you proposing marriage, Bruce?" she asked, her disbelief evident. Father did not reply. "Bruce?" she said.

"I knew a woman once," Father said tenderly and with a sincere depth of heart. "A magnificent woman of beauty and heart and fiery passion who enflamed my heart and aroused my ardor."

Father paused for effect, never taking his eyes from her. She, for her part, appeared confused by the abrupt changes facing her, but mesmerized by him and unable to look away.

"I would not anchor myself to a dispirited shrew, but I would propose to that woman in a heartbeat."

"That woman is dead, Bruce," she replied, the tears welling in her eyes reflecting her great sadness.

Father said, "Dead? I don't think so. I believe she exists in a prison of another's making where she awaits a man to release her."

"They say long-time prisoners lose their joie d'vivre while incarcerated and never find it again when they are released," she countered.

"I would help her find it," he said.

"Would someone please tell me what we are discussing?" Jane Marie asked sharply.

"Please excuse me," Mrs. Whitfield said.

She pushed back her chair and quickly rose, but before she could take a step, Father, who stood when she did, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Her hands, balled into fists and trapped against her breasts when she raised them in protest, slowly opened and her arms slipped around his neck as she pushed herself against him.

"Mother!" Jane Marie exclaimed.

Father released Mrs. Whitfield and she him. She fled the room in tears.

"Mr. MacKenzie, what is happening here?" Jane Marie demanded.

"Excuse me, please," Father said. He followed Mrs. Whitfield from the room, leaving us alone.

"Do you know what's happening?" she asked me.

"Yes, I do. He loves her and wants her to become his wife."

"So, it's true then," Jane Marie hissed.

We heard Father knocking on Mrs. Whitfield's bedroom door and pleading with her to admit him.

"What's true?" I asked.

"Father told me Mother was an adulteress, but he didn't know her paramour. It was your father."

"Your mother is no adulteress and my father is no adulterer."

"But you said he loves her, and now her actions are clear. It was always obvious, even to me, that my parents despised one another. She must have loved someone else - and that someone is him."

"Would you commit adultery?" I asked.

"Never," she snapped. "Never under any circumstances."

"Then why do you think your own mother would?"

We heard the thud of his boots on the hardwood floor. The front door opened and closed.

Jane Marie sagged, her thoughts in disarray. "I don't know," she stuttered. She stood and said, "I want to be alone, Bobby. Please excuse me." She perfunctorily returned my kiss and slowly went toward the stairs and her room.

I called for a drink of whiskey, although it was not my habit to drink. After Melissa, The Manor's prime house slave, brought me my ration, I went to the porch to await the arrival of Jonah's party. I was thinking of my own intended, our respective parents, and their relationship when I heard the clatter of wagons approaching on the road.

Jonah and his family had arrived. I greeted them and walked beside their wagon to guide them to the spot designated for the tents that were to be their home until one could be built.

I left Jonah and his family to be assisted by the Whitlands slaves and led Ebony and Fancy into The Manor and Jane Marie. Clearly, Jane Marie was glad to see them, but she barely acknowledged me. Her mind was elsewhere, presumably on us, our nuptials, our parents, and the tumultuous events of yesterday and today. She turned Ebony and Fancy over to Melissa to be fed, and departed for her room with only a curt "good night" to me.

I instructed them to join me in the guest house after supping, and departed. I was naked on my bed, evaluating all the myriad possibilities of my life after marriage when Ebony rapped once on the door and entered.

"Do you want me in here, Master Robert?" she asked.

"Yes, unless you are too drained from your day's journey."

She grinned and said, "This slave-girl is never so tired she doesn't want your cock plowing away in her, baby."

In seconds, she was being plowed, although I hoped no seeds escaped her sponge and fell on fertile ground. Consummation brought relief to my groin but only partial relief to my swirling head. She brought my cock to attention again using the soft caresses of her hand and her active tongue and lips. After our second coupling, I slept.



-------

Chapter 4: In Residence at Whitlands


The next morning Father entered my room well before dawn to find us asleep and uncovered with Ebony's hot body pressed against me.

He shook me and said, "Get dressed and meet me in the dining room, Robert."

Ebony lazily rolled onto her back, letting him gaze on the richness of her naked body. Father's eyes traveled down her, stopping at the soft pink of her sex peaking from below the black thatch of hair. "You, too, Ebony. Get up and get to work," he said.

"Yes, sir, Master Bruce," she replied sleepily, but with a small and knowing smile acknowledging the effect her body had on him, or on any man.

I stumbled to the outer-house and returned to the bedroom to find her face down and apparently slumbering again. I slapped her plush bottom with the flat of my hand, receiving a squeal in return, and ordered her to arise. When I went into the guest house's center room, Fancy was dressed and waiting, her face adorned by the same neutral and effacing expression she usually wore.

"Good morning, Master Robert. What should Ebony and I do today?" she asked politely.

"Both of you report to Jane Marie," I said.

At that moment, Father reentered the guest house. "Everyone in this damn place is asleep. There is no one in the kitchen, not a light on in the house, and no sign of life from the slave quarters. How in Hell does any work get done?"

"We'll awaken them," I said.

"Of course we will." He turned to Fancy, who was cowering against the wall. "Fancy, first get Jonah, Samuel, and David. I want them to come to the big house. Then awaken Melissa. Tell her I want breakfast and I want it now. Then wake Witherspoon and have him report to me immediately."

"Yes, sir," she replied, but she didn't budge from that spot.

"Quickly, girl. Go," Father snapped. Fancy shot out the door and ran toward Jonah's tent.

"Ebony!" Father yelled.

Already dressed, she quickly threw open the door and stepped lively to stand trembling before him as he glared at her.

"You belong to Master Robert," Father said coldly.

"Yes, Master Bruce," she whispered.

"If you were my slave-girl and you wantonly showed your charms to another man as you did to me this morning, I might sell you that day, or, if you were a slave-girl whose sex pleased me, I might just give you a long, hard switching as a warning."

"Please, Master..." Ebony began.

"Be quiet," he said. "I said you weren't my girl."

She spun to face me, but remained silent upon seeing my expression, with tears running down her cheeks. Whether her legs gave way or she knelt intentionally, I don't know, but she fell to her knees in front of me with her upturned face silently imploring for mercy.

"Have a long and flexible switch laying on my bed when I return tonight, Ebony. I will deal with you then. Now go light the lamps in The Manor," I said coldly.

"Yes, Master Robert," she sobbed, before jumping up and running out the door.

"She is a good looking and wanton wench. No doubt she will be the pain of Hell for some poor man," Father said with a chuckle. "Come. To work."

The first light at The Manor flickered and glowed as we walked toward it. We heard people scurrying about in the slave quarters and saw a light in Jonah's tent. Jonah, Samuel, and David were waiting on The Manor's stoop for they, like Father and I, were accustomed to beginning their day early.

We bade one another good morning and began to discuss the farm when we heard Fancy crying, "Master Robert, Master Robert," as she ran toward us.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Mister and Missus Witherspoon are gone and so are the other white men and their families. They're all gone."

We all looked at Father, but he said, "What now, Robert?"

Once again, Father was thrusting responsibility on me and trusting me to handle it properly. He tried to maintain a solemn expression, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Jonah, too, was enjoying the moment of his new boss' first action. Samuel and David, however, faced me with the looks of men anticipating a command and trusting the man who would give it.

"Fancy, send Ebony out to me. Then awaken Mrs. Whitfield and Jane Marie, tell them what happened, and have them dress as quickly as possible. Jonah, what do you have for weapons?"

"Hand axes, Robert," he said. Don't think Jonah was being arrogant or disobedient in not referring to me as master. That title was not mandatory at Ironwood.

Slaves were not allowed firearms and South Carolina law prohibited arming a Negro or training them in their use. Father and I, like most white men in this backwater area, did not go out of the house without a pistol or two and a knife in our belts.

"David," I said turning to face him. "Get axes for the three of you. Tell Sarah to join us and send Constance Anne to the house for her safety."

We heard heated voices and Fancy screaming Ebony's name as we turned to walk toward the slave quarters. The Manor door slammed and I heard running. Momentarily, Ebony, breathing hard, was standing by me.

"Who is in charge of the horses and stables?" I asked her.

"Silas, Master Robert," she replied.

"Samuel, go with Ebony and roust Silas. Determine if any horses or equipment are missing and report back to me. Wait. There's David. Take your ax."

The slave quarters were always adjunct to the barn and stable area for the safety of slaves and animals alike since the Carolina woods were home to predatory wolves and cats. As for the rest, each plantation was laid out to suit the purposes of its owner and fit the terrain on which it sat. Whitlands' three overseer houses, which were much nicer than the shacks housing the slaves, sat between the slave quarters and The Manor. The slave quarters and the out-buildings sat on a small plain next to a creek, with the quarters upriver to the buildings for sanitary reasons, and the shops nearby for easy access, with a wooden rail fence surrounding it all.

Sarah joined us as we searched the overseers' houses, and they had indeed been abandoned. I told Jonah to select the house he wanted and move into it when the plantation situation was under control. We exited toward the slave quarters and met Samuel and Ebony who reported wagons, horses, and implements had been stolen.

Near the slave quarters was an assembly stand, a raised platform from which the overseer gave instructions to the group as a whole, with a bell nearby for calling the assembly. Another common apparatus in the area was the slave's tree. Originally an actual tree, but now more often a wood frame either in the shape of the letter "X" or built like the frame around a door, the slave's tree was where the slaves were whipped, suspended from the tree by ropes and chains. Ironwood had no slave's tree.

News of the white overseers' unseemly departure had spread like wildfire, and the slaves were milling around when we entered their area. Seeing white faces increased the buzz, but when I mounted the assembly stand, they gathered round and quieted down. To assure our message reached all their ears, David heartily rang the assembly bell.

I waited until I believed all were present before beginning. I identified myself both as Jane Marie's intended and as the new boss at Whitlands. I introduced Jonah as the new overseer and Sarah, Samuel, and David as his assistants, which brought a stir since they had never seen, and probably could not imagine, a black man as the overseer. I further instructed them to obey Jonah and his assistants as they would me.

I informed the slaves that we used the whip only in rare instances, but I made it clear we sold slaves who malingered or disobeyed and we expected hard work from them. In their presence, I told Jonah to ascertain if everyone had enough to eat, if any houses needed repairing, and if any illnesses needed doctoring, thereby committing to them our resolve to provide for them. I called the gang chiefs forward before stepping down from the stand.

Gang chiefs are picked to lead other slaves in a particular endeavor, such as Silas, who was gang chief of the stables. Once on the ground, I stepped forward, introducing myself to each of them in turn and extending my hand to shake theirs. This, too, caused a buzz in the crowd for white and black men did not shake hands. However, Father believed, and I agreed, looking a man in the eye and shaking his hand takes his measure and is the beginning of a stronger and more productive relationship.

I turned the meeting over to Jonah, who immediately told the crowd to disassemble and begin the day's chores. I walked toward the entrance gate where Father, with three pistols in his belt and a smile on his face, was standing with Jane Marie.

He shook my hand and said, "Well done."

I appreciated the accolade but Jane Marie's approving expression and her visible pride in me were a greater reward. She put her arm through mine as we walked back to The Manor. There we talked of Whitlands' business, with nary a word about personal matters, until breakfast was served. Mrs. Whitfield did not grace us with her presence.

I chose myself to make the hard three hour ride to the county seat to report the theft of Whitlands' property. I carried two braces of pistols and a letter of authority to represent the plantation. When I arrived, I found the sheriff and related my story. He informed me that Witherspoon and his cohorts were in the town's public house. There he and his deputies promptly arrested the culprits and incarcerated them in the town's stockade to await their fate. I assembled Whitlands' purloined property, delivered it to the local stables for safekeeping, and informed both the sheriff and the stable-owner that two young black men named Samuel and David would call to collect our possessions. In less than an hour, I was on my way back to Whitlands.

Upon my return, I gave Palmetto to Silas and instructed him to saddle me a new horse. I rode the property, making mental notes as to necessary changes. I found Father, stripped to the waist and with sweat gleaming on his body, talking to a group of slaves in the field. I suspect he was instructing them in the proper way to plant corn. I noted the garden area, much smaller than the one at Ironwood, needed expanding to provide enough vegetables to feed us all and that Whitlands suffered a shortage of poultry and cattle as well.

By evening, we all were tired but exhilarated. I sponged off the road dust and joined Father and Jane Marie in the dining room of The Manor where they were talking before dinner.

"Where is your mother?" Father asked.

"She's taking her meals in her room," Jane Marie replied.

Father's jaw set and twitched. "You are mistress of The Manor," he said to her. "I do not wish to appear to be rude, but I would like the authority to deal with this troublesome matter."

"Meaning my mother?" Jane Marie asked.

"Yes," Father said. It wasn't often a burr lodged under his saddle but Mrs. Whitfield clearly vexed him.

"Why?"

Jane Marie's question, equivocal and open-ended, raised all the issues between our respective parents. Father did not respond. Rather then hesitating for effect as he was wont to do, he was searching for the words.

Jane Marie cut him short by saying, "She suffered mightily by my father's hand, didn't she?" Father nodded. "You love her, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," he replied.

"Full authority will shortly be yours, so take it now and do what you wish," she said.

"Thank you, Jane Marie," Father answered sincerely. He turned to face the kitchen and bellowed, "Melissa." Quickly Melissa appeared. "Tell Mrs. Whitfield no more meals will be served to her room and tell her to come to the dining room for dinner at once," Father instructed.

Melissa's eyes opened widely and she looked at Jane Marie, who said, "The two Mr. MacKenzies are in charge now, Melissa. Do as he says."

"Yes, ma'am," Melissa said and hurried down the hall. We heard her relaying the message through the door. In a few moments, Melissa returned and said, "Missus Whitfield says she's not coming to dinner."

"Go back and tell her if she doesn't appear by the second course, I will kick down her door and drag her out by her hair," Father said.

"Oh, Mr. MacKenzie, I can't tell Missus Whitfield that," Melissa pleaded.

"Go tell her," Father said emphatically.

Melissa talked to herself as she again went to Mrs. Whitfield's bedroom. When she returned, she said, "Now Mr. MacKenzie, please don't get mad at me, but this is what she said to say to you. She said, 'Tell the brute I will be there shortly.'"

"Thank you, Melissa," Father said. The poor woman ran from the room. Father was grinning and we grinned in response. "I think I'll have a drink," he said. He called for Ebony and gave her instructions. Shortly, she returned with three whiskies.

"To Mary Elizabeth," Father said holding up his glass in the time honored signal for a toast.

"To Mary Elizabeth," we chorused, touching our glasses to his.

After the salad, we began the second course, which was pot roast with potatoes and vegetables, and the inevitable biscuits with butter and jam and strong tea. Mrs. Whitfield, who appeared as the plates were laid on the table, was properly dressed in a frock similar to Jane Marie's. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she looked emotionally drained. Father stood when he saw her, complimented her on her appearance, and held her chair for her.

The dinner conversation did not flow smoothly. Mrs. Whitfield wished to be silent and Father insisted she participate. His desire for her and her resistance were bittersweet, for I truly believed they were good for each other.

When dinner was complete, Father said, "Mary Elizabeth, let's sit on the front porch and talk for awhile."

"No, thank you, Bruce," she replied. "I'm going to my room."

It galled him, but he replied, "Certainly. Have a pleasant evening," as he held her chair and watched her walk away. He excused himself and departed by the front door.

"I didn't mean to be abrupt with you last night," Jane Marie said.

"I didn't take offense, but thank you for the apology."

"I had a long talk with Mother today. She told me she never committed adultery. She also told me about your father proposing to her and about his offer to buy her freedom from my father. Did you know about that?"

"Yes, I did," I replied.

"She wanted to accept, but didn't because it wasn't morally correct. That says something positive and good about her, doesn't it?" I nodded. "She told me other things, too. I realize my father subtly poisoned my mind against her yet she never spoke out against him. That's one reason I believe her."

"I hope you harbor no animosity toward her. She will always be your mother and in our lives."

"As both mother and mother-in-law it appears," Jane Marie said with a wry smile. "I'm going to be with her now." She stood and I stood with her. She came against me and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"I'm eagerly looking forward to our wedding night, my love," she whispered. She kissed me before walking toward the hall, where she stopped and turned back to me.

"May Fancy spend the night with me? I miss her," she said.

"Certainly. I'll send her in," I said. We bade each other sweet dreams.

Ebony and Fancy were in front of the fire when I entered the guest house, with Fancy on her knees rubbing Ebony's back.

"Where's Father?" I asked.

"In his room, Master Robert," Fancy replied. Ebony rolled over to look up at me, which pulled her dress tight over her breasts. Knowing I was watching, she spread her legs, pulling the lower dress tight around them.

"Jane Marie wants you to spend the night with her, Fancy. Go to her room."

For only an instant, she smiled and looked happy and then her passive mask returned. "Yes, Master," she replied. She gathered a few items and hurried out the door.

Ebony sat up and stared at me with hot eyes.

"Ready for your switching?" I asked.

"Please don't punish me, Master," she whispered in a sexy and yielding tone.

Like a cat, she sprang up and wrapped her arms around my waist with her breasts hot on my chest. One hand slid down to stroke my manhood.

"Let me please you, Master. I'll be so good to you, your head will rumble with dreams of me."

The door to Father's bedroom opened and he stuck his head out. Ebony, looking very guilty, stepped back from me. "Oh, good. You're here." He was grinning as he walked into the center room wearing only his trousers. "Is Ebony trying to seduce you out of her punishment?"

"Yes, sir, but it won't work."

"You shouldn't have told her. I'll bet you she'd be quite rewarding as she played her tricks to win you over."

"She's quite rewarding anyway," I replied.

"I know she is if she is anything like her mother," Father said. His eyes were on her and his voice neutral when he said, "But, unlike her mother, Ebony has not learned the virtue of fidelity to the man who is her lover or that her loyalty should be doubled if her lover is also her owner."

Ebony was still as a mouse, her only movement being her eyes as they flicked between Father and me.

Father's face and tone softened as he said, "Or perhaps she has learned wantonness is more pleasing to some masters than loyalty, particularly if her master enjoyed watching her copulate with his friends as Edward did."

Father faced me, with his profile to her, and her frightened eyes fell on me. "I told you Ebony had Edward and two slave-men as lovers before you, but Patience informed me that was incorrect. It seems Edward gave Ebony to all of his friends except me for their temporary use and enjoyment, and she did not go to the two bucks voluntarily but as a reward given to them by Edward."

He turned to face her. "Is that information correct?" he asked.

"Yes, Master Bruce," she whispered.

"Did you enjoy the others?" he asked. When Ebony did not answer, Father continued, saying, "Clearly she is deciding which answer she thinks will most please us rather than tell us the truth. Whether slave or free, all woman face that dilemma, but the burden of the slave woman might be greater, for she faces the pain of whipping or sale if she displeases her man. So she must decide - does she share with her lover the secrets of her heart and risk his displeasure, or hide them, telling him only what she thinks he wishes to hear?"

He turned, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "We start early again in the morning. We have a lot to do and I leave for Ironwood at mid-day. Good night, Robert."

"Good night, Father," I said.

He walked to his bedroom door, quickly turned, and smiled at Ebony. Shyly, she smiled in return. "Good night, Ebony," he said.

"Good night, Master Bruce," she answered softly and half-curtsied to him.

Ebony and I faced each other, neither speaking but communicating non-verbally. I took her hand and led her into my bedroom to find a fire laid, the bed turned back, and a sturdy branch about four feet long and with its bark stripped lying across the bed.

In the room's deep silence, broken only by the fire's crackling, she began unbuttoning my tunic. Except for her hands undressing me, we neither touched nor spoke. When I was bare, I visited the outer-house and returned to find her as I left her. She slowly raised her dress over her head to reveal her splendor. Her face during this time wore questions interspersed with introspection, changing landscapes of the terrain of her mind.

"Do you deserve a switching, Ebony?" I asked.

"I don't know, Master."

"Why?"

"I don't know what pleases you or what displeases you, Master."

"You'll learn," I said.

I picked up the switch and she stood still as a statue, with goose bumps prickling her breasts and arms. I lay the switch's shaft on her calf. She gasped and raised her arms over her head to fold them as she clasped elbows with hands, exposing her body to my weapon.

I was acutely aware that her eager yielding fueled my lust. Her willingness and readiness to accept my domination, as her body and face alike confirmed, made my spear throb like a boil. As I slowly slid the switch up the outer curves of her shapely leg and over the rise of her hip, I contemplated both her reaction and mine, for her desire to be roughly conquered was obvious and the power of my own need to subdue her made my hand shake.

I slowly trailed the switch up her side and she squirmed in a powerful combination of pleasure and terror that reflected in her face and the rigidity of her nipples. I cupped her sex. Her mouth opened and her legs parted, offering me access to either if I chose. Her sex was moist, telling of her desire for my manhood to enter her there. I leaned against her and her eyes stared hopefully into mine.

"Do you want to be switched?" I asked.

"No, Master, but I have angered you and I expect to be switched," she said.

"That was two times a lie. Lie one is that you do want it. You see, slave-girl, I am learning to read your signs. And lie two is that you said you would tell me how to please you sexually, but you didn't."

Tears formed in her eyes and her lower lip quivered. I stepped back and laid the staff on her nipple. Her eyes fluttered closed and she bowed her back to caress the thin branch with her breast.

I was contemplating this strange mystery of a woman seeking her pleasure from her pain, and a slave-girl reveling in her slavery, when her eyes opened and she stared at me with a deep hunger.

"Does the idea of being switched make you eager for sex?" I said quietly.

"Sometimes, Master Robert," she murmured huskily.

I wished to elevate her pleasure, and mine, to the greatest heights, yet I had no desire to bring her needless pain for, unlike Father, I felt Ebony would be loyal to a master who treated her well.

"Then sometime I will switch you for both our pleasures," I said as I dropped the switch. "But not now."

She leapt against me with her hands around my neck, her mouth pressed against mine, and her body grinding into me. As quickly, she dropped to the floor on hands and knees, with her buttocks toward me and her knees widely spread.

"Hurry, Master. Take me this way, like a dog humping a bitch, drive your cock into your slave-bitch and fuck her hard."

Her bud was fully open, covered in its own dew secreted to such an extent drops fell to the floor below her, when I grabbed the bones of her hips and drove into her with all my force.

Immediately, her trembling signaled her climax as she screamed, "Master." Her reward was stronger than I had experienced, lasting longer and with more force, with gasping and moaning and pressure around my shaft like a clasping hand until her head flopped to the floor with a thud. Still I was in her, rutting hard in her slickness.

"Yes, Master. Keep fucking my slave-girl cunt," she moaned softly.

Her sex slowly tightened around my presence and she drove her hips back hard and stopped. She groaned and went limp, falling to the floor, which pulled my red and wet manhood from her the instant before it exploded. I watched cords of my sperm fly to land on her back and hair before I fell on her, too spent to move.

In the night, I awakened when the dying embers of the fire were insufficient to heat us adequately. I lifted Ebony, put her in the bed, crawled in beside her, and covered us over.

In the morning, Ebony awakened me in the most pleasurable way with her full lips around my manhood, before mounting me to move only the muscles of her sex, laying with her breasts pressed into my chest and her head by mine. Resting and waiting in the damp heat and rhythmic stimulation she provided, my manhood became overaroused, compelling me to roll her over and consummate our coupling with force and speed.

Father, Jane Marie, and I were in fine spirits at breakfast, but Mrs. Whitfield's absence galled him although he did not demand her presence as he had at the prior meal. He seemed, for the moment, to accept his fate as a spurned lover.

After breakfast, I first gave Samuel and David their papers of passage and dispatched them to retrieve our belongings from the stable-master in town. Jonah, Sarah, Father, and I met to discuss Whitland's condition. Jonah advised me that the slaves' food was limited in both amount and diversity and we all agreed expansion of the garden was a high priority. While Sarah was mistress of the Great House at Ironwood, she also was responsible for the garden. In truth, she enjoyed that endeavor more than others, so I charged her with the task.

I gave Father my opinion that poultry and cattle were in short supply and asked that he sell us our needs from the herds at Ironwood, to which he agreed. I assigned Sarah the extra duty of determining how many hens, roosters, and milk cows Whitlands needed.

Jonah stated his belief that Whitlands' slaves were a placid and basically lazy lot who cared not how much was produced but only how little they worked. Father's presence in the field, however, had been an example to a few of them, whose effort had increased. We all agreed increased effort was essential if Whitlands was to both maintain crop sales to produce income and remediate substandard conditions of its buildings, including slaves' houses, and equipment. We discussed other issues and laid plans before Father mounted Liberty and returned to Ironwood.

-------

For a fortnight from that point, I was master of Whitlands, spending my days learning the operations and making decisions that would impact the future of owners and slaves alike. The most sensitive issues dealt with organization and management of the slaves themselves as Jonah and I rewarded or punished them to best serve our needs, although that punishment was only reduction from a position of authority together with a reprimand, and nothing of a corporeal nature. Our decisions quickly bore fruit, as the new gang chiefs proved eager and energetic to assist in building Whitlands' operations.

I addressed the assembled slaves on several occasions. They were well aware they lacked sufficient vegetables, eggs, and grains, but had reasoned incorrectly that these shortages were due to Whitfield consumption or sales to other plantations. I explained that the cause was insufficient production and that while we would provide more space for the garden and chickens and cows, they must provide the effort to tend and collect the foodstuffs.

I dined with Jane Marie twice a day and my feelings for her and desire to wed continued to grow. Mrs. Whitfield asked to receive her meals in her rooms, but Jane Marie and I agreed to deny her that request, so she dined with us. We watched her slowly recoup from the sea changes in her life. Fortunately, the poison that infested her system seemed to have vanished. Fancy was happier now that she was living in the guest room in The Manor located next door to Jane Marie's room.

Ebony was the one, however, who seemed to change the most. The night following her aborted switching when we two retired to the guest house, she called me Bobby, becoming only the second person in my life, the other being Jane Marie, to use that familiarity. That test of our relationship, confirmed by the burning questions in her demeanor as she spoke, was the first of many small tests she gave me. I took no step to stop her. She always was deferential and correct outside of that house and she did not take advantage of my good nature therein.

As she slowly found me to be honest and generous with her, her inherent good nature repaid my kindnesses and I reaped my reward, for a joyful and contented Ebony is a reward indeed, a woman whose passion at night multiplied to our mutual enjoyment.

-------

Father returned to Whitlands fourteen days after he departed, arriving hale and hearty to join Jonah and me for the noonday meal, which was only bread and tea as was our practice. He announced he had acquired the poultry, cattle, and swine we needed and his acquisitions were on the road under the care of James, Ironwood's overseer. He brought me up to date on events at Ironwood, most importantly my dear sister, Elizabeth. I, in turn, informed him of the changes at Whitlands, including our progress in the fields, the expansion of the garden, and the attitudes and actions of the slaves. We toured the plantation to examine every aspect of its operations and to introduce him to the new gang chiefs.

Jane Marie warmly welcomed Father's return. At dinner that night, Mrs. Whitfield joined us to sit at Father's right as Jane Marie sat at mine. The dinner discussion was primarily of our wedding, now less than three weeks away. While Mrs. Whitfield joined us in conversation, she was quiet and passive, deferring to the rest of us in any decision needing to be made. Father did not abruptly command her attention as I expected, but was gentle as a mother to a newborn with her.

When dessert was through, Mrs. Whitfield stood and said, "I'm going to my room now."

"I want to talk with you, Mary Elizabeth," Father said gently.

"We can talk tomorrow, Bruce," she replied with more strength than I saw in her all evening.

Clearly disappointed, he nonetheless acquiesced and bade her good night. Jane Marie kissed me warmly, excused herself, and went up the stairs to her room. Father and I called for a whiskey, which Ebony served. We talked of the farm and its management as we sipped our drinks.

When we left for the guest house, Ebony went with us, walking a few feet behind me, and Fancy went to her room upstairs. Upon entering, Father fell back on the chesterfield and I sat beside him. Ebony laid the fire and stoked it to life before kneeling as my feet to remove my boots.

"I sense a change between you two," Father said.

Ebony raised her head and smiled at me. "Yes," I said. "These two weeks have been good for us."

"Does Ebony understand her wantonness is only a blessing if she lets you control it, Robert?" Father asked.

"Ask her, Father," I said and he repeated his question to her.

"May I talk freely, Master Robert?" Ebony asked me.

"Yes, you may," I answered.

She sat back with her buttocks against her heels and her knees together primly with the skirt of her dress loose around her legs. Her face was intent, her intelligence evident, as she spoke.

"You said once, Master Bruce, that I was thinking about what to say rather than saying what I felt. That was true, but now I will say what is and what was and what I feel. I do so only because I now trust my master." She looked from Father to me and continued. "I obey him and want to please him not out of fear as I did with Master Edward but because I care for him and want him to be pleased with me."

She took a deep breath, turned toward Father again, and said, "When I had my first time of the month, my mother told me Master Edward would make a woman of me and that I, as his slave and his woman, had only one purpose in life - to please him. She told me of sex and what to expect. I was horrified to be taken by my master and yet thrilled I was to belong to him as my mother did, for I had seen them together many times.

"He came for me in the middle of the night, yanking me from my bed, and dragging me from my home to tie me to the slave's tree. My mother and my sister held lamps for light as he tore my clothes from me and whipped me with a small whip."

Father and I were both shocked at her revelations concerning Edward Whitfield.

"He whipped all of me, but seemed to take special thrill in punishing my female parts. As he whipped me, he continually told me that I would be wanton and over-willing, always eager to obey his every command, and I would please him and all men he let use me. He said he would kill me slowly if I displeased him. He forced his manhood into me, tearing the seal of my sex. After he took his pleasure, he told Mother to let me hang there until daybreak."

Ebony's eyes were unseeing as she spoke and tears slid down her cheeks to wet her dress where it swelled over her breasts. When she looked at me, I was truly touched by the depth of her feeling.

"I was allowed to heal before he first called for me. When I went to him, my only thoughts were pleasing him, for I had no desire to die. I pleased Master Edward beyond his expectations, and doing that was very important to my well-being. My surprise was how much I enjoyed sex, whether because of my violent initiation or in spite of it, I didn't know. You asked me if I enjoyed being given to others. Yes, I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed my master watching me as I pleased his friends. Like my mother before me, I am a sensual woman who finds great reward in pleasuring a man."

Her introspection gone and her intensity burning brightly, she held Father's gaze.

"I suspect, Master Bruce, that you believe me incapable of being faithful to one man." He nodded. "You are wrong, sir. I can be faithful and will be faithful to a man I trust and care for and who cares for me."

She looked at me with the same intensity and raw, honest emotion. "That man is you, Master Robert. If you tell me to touch no man but you, I will happily do it. But if you tell me to pleasure another man because it pleases you, I will obey because it pleases me to please you."

She looked downward and trembled. I lifted her chin to force her eyes to mine. "I believe and appreciate your honest and forthright disclosures," I said. "You have earned no enmity from me for them."

"Nor from me, Ebony," Father said. "I apologize for misjudging you."

"Thank you, Masters," she whispered.

"I'll leave you two alone," Father said. As he started to rise, Ebony seized his hand and kissed the back of it.

I guided her into our bedroom where she disrobed me before removing her simple dress and tossing it aside. She lay back on the bed and welcomed me into her. Our couplings were different that night, less heated but deeper in emotion, until she slept in my arms.

I must admit, to these pages if no one else, as she lay next to me with her breath warm on my throat, that I would consider myself lucky to have in my betrothed the depth of feeling I had from and for Ebony.

I awakened early the next morning to find Ebony awake with her leg over mine, her soft hand resting on my chest as she watched me apprehensively.

"Good morning, Master," she whispered. Her lips brushed my cheek.

"Good morning," I replied as I turned my face to hers and met her lips with mine.

"Have I displeased you, Master?" she whispered.

"How would you have displeased me?" I asked.

"Most men would punish their slave-girl for admitting she enjoyed being given to others."

"In truth, your open and honest emotions pleased me very much."

"Thank you." The sound of the letter "B' escaped before she sealed her lips.

"You are welcome to use my Christian name when we are alone, but it is proper to call me Master when others are present."

"I know, Bobby," she whispered. She nestled more firmly against me and I turned toward her, letting my hard shaft rest on her leg.

"Are you going to have me now?" she asked hopefully.

"Answer this question first. In your openness with me, you failed to address the pain you sought that night when I held the switch against your body." Ebony quivered and her fear of having her feelings exposed shown in her eyes. "I can read your signs now, Ebony. I can tell what you want and when you lie to me."

She nodded and exhaled sharply. "Great pain, like when Master Edward whipped me before he first took me, is only pain and no girl wants that, but..." Her sly and sensual expression transformed her face. "Sometimes a little pain is only a touch more than pleasure and increases the pleasure when they are given one after the other."

"Like a spanking?"

She squirmed as if feeling my hand on her backside. "Yes, like that."

"Or like a switch if applied with finesse."

"Or like that, too."

I slid my hand down her front to pass through her dark hair and stroke her cunt to find it wet with her juices.

"Thinking of me or a spanking?" I asked.

"I'm thinking of you spanking me, and then holding me down and fucking me, Bobby. I'll tell you another secret. We like our men to use the words of sex when they're in us, or when they contemplate being there."

"Like now, when I say, 'I'm going to spank your sweet ass and then fuck you hard."

"Yes. Like that," she said as her fingers wrapped around my shaft and she squirmed to get it closer to her sex.

"Robert, it is time for breakfast," Father said as he rapped on the door.

"Coming, Father," I replied. "I'll redden your ass and fuck your hot cunt later, my sweet Ebony," I whispered in her ear.

She was all soft, sexy smiles and hot eyes as we dressed.



-------

Chapter 5: Of Father and Mrs. Whitfield


At breakfast, Mrs. Whitfield appeared more rested but brittle, with her emotions swinging from happy and flirtatious to somber and withdrawn. She certainly vexed Father for as he opened toward her, she pushed him away, and when he withdrew, she called him forth.

Father and I spent the morning with Jonah, Sarah, and the others, reviewing the fields and shops. In the afternoon, we worked in The Manor's dining room, going over the books of accounts and bank records. Whitlands was short of cash, but Father offered to advance what was necessary from Ironwood's coffers.

When Ebony asked if she should set the table for dinner, we adjourned to the front porch swings to continue our discussions. When Fancy called us to dinner, we entered the dining room to find Jane Marie and Mrs. Whitfield standing by the table. We held their chairs, telling each how lovely she looked.

Over dinner conversation, Mrs. Whitfield seemed to be more her old self, firm and in control of her emotions, as if the decisions to direct her life were made. I surmised her emotions were again bound tightly, but this time in a prison of her own making. Father's frustration with her coolness toward him was evident.

As dessert was being served, Mrs. Whitfield turned to Father and said, "I have made a decision, Bruce. I will live out my days in the guest house here."

Father's countenance darkened and he threw his napkin onto his plate. "Balderdash," he barked. "Complete and utter balderdash. Do you know what you are, Mary Elizabeth? You are a prisoner who tried and sentenced herself for another's crimes, and..." He slammed his fist on the table and glared at her. "And a goddamned slave to your own warped emotions."

She was clearly stunned as her blank expression and slack jaw testified.

"Yes, that's it. You are a slave. Is that what you want to be?" he demanded.

Mrs. Whitfield nodded her head, although her demeanor had not changed. I speculated she had no conscious idea she signaled him thusly.

"As you wish. If you insist on being a slave, then so it shall be, but you will not be a slave to your own fears and live alone like a hermit. You will be my slave, warming my soul and my bed."

She flinched like she'd been slapped, even to raising her hand to her cheek as if it stung. We all awaited her response. When her color returned to normal, she said coldly, "How dare you speak to me that way."

"I dare because that slave-girl inside you is one I am impatient to own, to have recline on my bed or sit at my feet awaiting my command to bring me pleasure." Father leaned forward and she drew back. "I can see that slave-girl in you, Mary Elizabeth. She will relish me and my requests with a laughing and enthusiastic heart, which will please both her and me immensely."

"You confuse me with your whore," she blustered.

"The next time you call her a whore, I will turn you over my lap and spank you."

"You wouldn't dare," she gasped.

"I would and I will. Be advised your spanking will be applied wherever the words are uttered, no matter who is in attendance. The swats will not land on your derriere as it is now, covered by layers of petticoats protecting your tender flesh and voiding your punishment. They will be administered on your naked bottom without a single layer of material to thwart my objective of correcting your attitude. And, my pretty slave-girl, I will provide the same rectification if other attitudes of yours irk me."

Not a sound was heard except the soft rush of our breath. Jane Marie and I were so still I felt the beating of her heart as we held hands. Mrs. Whitfield was a statue with her mouth agape and her left hand at her breast. Father was leaning forward with his elbows and forearms braced on the table, his jaw set, and his eyes blazing.

"I want you, Mary Elizabeth, and I have for years. I will have you," he vowed.

It seemed a long time before he smiled and sat back, releasing us all from the moment. He sipped his whiskey and watched the woman he courted in his own unique manner while Jane Marie and I studied the two of them.

Mrs. Whitfield suddenly swelled like a toad and her eyes flashed haughtily. "I will not go with you unless we are married," she said imperiously. Jane Marie gasped.

Father ignored her stipulation. "Mary Elizabeth, I want you to learn a new word," he continued.

"What word is that?" she asked and her voice trembled.

"The word is 'fuck.' It means to copulate, but it means more than a mere coupling either for procreation or recreation. It implies a soulful enjoyment, a wildness of spirit, an ecstatic willingness to both give and receive pleasure."

"I know that word, but I will never utter it and I will never do it. It is a foul and filthy word for the likes of your..." She stopped abruptly and her face flushed bright crimson.

"Well done, Mary Elizabeth," Father chuckled. "I knew you were a quick study. Perhaps training my new slave-girl won't take as long as I reckoned."

Mrs. Whitfield stood, whether to run to him or to flee, I wasn't sure, and neither was she. Father shoved back his chair with a rattle and stood facing her.

"You, sir, are no gentleman and I do not accept your offer of marriage," she said indignantly.

"You have the cart before the horse. I have not proposed marriage. I have proposed I fuck you, repeatedly driving the hardness of my cock deep within the wet folds of your own sweet cunt to bring us both inestimable pleasures."

He stroked her lips with his thumb. "And your taking of my cock will not be limited to your cunt, my beautiful slave-girl."

She stepped away and he captured her hair with his strong left hand, twisting his fingers into the braids piled on her head. He pulled her face to his and kissed her commandingly. Mrs. Whitfield rigidly resisted his hand but let his lips have their way with her own.

Yet, when their lips parted, she swung to slap him. He trapped her arm in mid-air, holding it there as their war of eyes continued unabated. He released her arm and her hair.

"A slave-girl does not slap her master, Mary Elizabeth, but if the bitter and unpleasant woman you have made of yourself wishes to slap my face, go ahead. I won't stop you."

Mrs. Whitfield's hands, clenched into fists by her side, did not budge, and her breasts rose and fell more rapidly.

He continued, "You and I are going to the guest house to copulate, at the least. If you demonstrate your own desire to fuck well and often, and your eager and wanton willingness to bring pleasure to us both, I will marry you and install you as Queen of Ironwood. If all you do is copulate, I will not touch you again and you may live out your days here or as the dowager of the Little House."

"I wouldn't marry you for a King's ransom, Bruce MacKenzie," she trilled, so obviously a lie, I nearly laughed.

"We won't marry then. I am sorely disappointed, but it is your choice. Fucking is my choice and I choose to do it now."

He seized her again and kissed her brutally with one hand on her bottom and one hand behind her neck. He kissed her until the heat melted her and she sagged against him. He picked her up in his arms and strode toward the door. I opened it for him and attended him as he almost ran for the guest house. I opened the guest house door and he carried her inside. In the second before he kicked the door shut behind him, he said, "We are not to be disturbed."

My thoughts reeled as I slowly walked toward The Manor. I had not anticipated Father enacting so bold a plan to capture Mrs. Whitfield, but, clearly, she needed and wanted to be taken with force and fire and passion, all of which had been missing from her life. I knew without a doubt she had privately surrendered but not publicly admitted it, for I saw her face as she rode in his arms.

Jane Marie, Ebony, and Fancy were whispering like three schoolgirls as I reentered the dining room. Ebony and Fancy, shamefaced, quietened and stood by respectfully. Jane Marie gave me a quick and ready smile.

"Will you carry me off and make me your slave-girl, Bobby?" she asked happily. "Or warm my bottom with your hand?"

"Make no mistake about it, my love, for I surely will."

She laughed, wrapped her arms around me, and raised her head to be kissed, which I did hungrily.

"You get to carry me off in less than three weeks," she said when our kiss was complete. "I can hardly wait."

"Then why wait?" I teased.

"Cad," she replied coquettishly.

She kissed me lightly and turned on her heel toward the stairs. "Come with me, Fancy," she ordered.

Since I was dispossessed of the guest house, I chose the late Mr. Whitfield's bedroom, located next to Mrs. Whitfield's separate bedroom, on the first floor of The Manor. I was questioning whether to call Ebony to my bed, for she was prone to loud exclamations of enjoyment during our pleasures, but she slipped into the bedroom and locked the door behind her. Rather than coming to my bed as I expected, she stood apart with a playful expression.

"Come to me," I said.

"No," she replied haughtily. "I won't go to a brute like you."

"Then I will turn you over my knee and warm your ass before I thrust my cock deep into your burning cunt," I replied arrogantly.

"You, sir, are no gentleman," she exclaimed. I advanced toward her and she, no longer able to play the role, wiggled and giggled wantonly.

I wrestled her to my bed, drew her arms behind her back, held her crossed wrists, and lifted her dress to her waist. Her lame resistance proved to be false when my finger dipped into her honey pot to discover it flowing with her love juices. When I drew back my strong right hand to deliver the first swat, she tensed and raised her ample bottom to meet me.

"Please, no, Master," she squealed as my hand delivered the first blow.

Her spanking was slowly given as I relished it all - the feel of her body twisting on mine, her groaning and tearfully entreating me to stop, and the heat of passion generated in both of us, as well as her physical heat. I spanked her until her buttocks were red and hot. Then her body moved in tempo to my hand and her voice emitted those sweet words and groans denoting her approaching climax. I increased the speed of my swats.

"Oh, God, yes, Master. Yes," she cried as her reward overtook her with jerks and shudders.

I threw her on her back on the bed and drove my spear into her sopping cunt. Ebony orgasmed again.

"Yes, Master. Fuck me," she said.

"I'll fuck you until you beg me to cease, my hot-cunted slave," I growled in her ear.

"Thank you, Bobby," she whispered happily.

Father, Jane Marie, and I were present for breakfast the next morning, although he appeared to have hardly slept. Mrs. Whitfield was noticeably absent. Father assured Jane Marie that her mother was well, but tired, and wished to rest that day.

Again, he and I divided the day between the fields and the books of accounts. Only Jane Marie and I were in attendance for dinner that night. Ebony informed us that Father and Mrs. Whitfield were supping in the guest house. Our quiet evening alone was enjoyable and a hopeful foretelling of times to come. After dinner, we sat in the porch swing, held hands, and talked until time for bed, which, lamentably, meant we parted until the morning.

The following morning, Father did not appear for breakfast and was absent when Jonah and I broke for the noon meal in the fields.

That evening when I returned to The Manor for dinner, Ebony announced to Jane Marie and me, "Master Robert, Master Bruce said he and Missus Whitfield will be joining you and Miss Janey for dinner, although they may be late." Expecting a delay in dinner, Jane Marie and I adjourned to the front porch to visit. Much time passed and I was ready to eat without our parents when I heard their approach.

Father appeared with Mrs. Whitfield three steps behind him. He held a rope leading to her wrists and wrapped tightly around them to hold them together. When he stopped, she stopped behind him, tensing the rope guiding her.

"Do you mind if a slave-girl eats at the table with us?" Father asked.

Mrs. Whitfield's appearance stunned me. Her long hair, which I'd only seen braided and on her head, lay around her in lascivious disarray. She wore a slave's simple cotton dress, but the way she wore it was completely different than any slave, for they wore it to their ankles and loose to allow movement as they worked. In comparison, Mrs. Whitfield's dress was many sizes too small, falling only to below her knees and fitting tightly over her womanly curves to overtly flaunt them. And she was barefoot.

Yet, her most erotic part was her face, for she radiated unbridled feminine sensuality - a demanding lust worn pridefully and without remorse. Certainly, her expression's wanton display exceeded my own lush Ebony, which is a comment without equal. When I grinned - I hoped it was a grin and not a leer - at her, she didn't defer her eyes modestly, but raised her chin and held my eyes, as if to say she knew she inflamed Father and she could arouse me, or any man, if she desired.

"If you mind her sitting at the table, she can kneel by my side," Father asked, for Jane Marie and I had not answered his prior question.

"She's welcome at our table any time," I replied. "Whether she sits or kneels is your choice."

"Thank you," he replied. He walked toward the door and she let the rope stretch her arms in front of her before she swayed after him.

I was more than pleased when I looked at my intended's face to find a reflection of her own mother's heat and need to be possessed by a man.

"Shall I take you to the dinner table or the bedroom?" I challenged.

"The bedroom," she whispered. She leapt to her feet and her eyes were wide as saucers. "I didn't mean that... no, I mean yes, I did mean it... but..." She stepped back a pace. "We must wait until our wedding. We must." She turned and fled for the house and I followed.

When we entered the dining room, Mrs. Whitfield was in Father's arms as they passionately kissed. When they saw us, they parted. Ebony, grinning broadly, peeked from the kitchen.

"Do you want me to sit at the table or kneel at your feet while your feed me?" Mrs. Whitfield asked Father. He leered and kissed her again before guiding her to her chair and holding it for her.

"May I have a pillow, please, Bruce?" she asked in a subservient and husky voice.

"Is my little slave-girl's bottom sore?" he teased.

"My soreness is not limited to my bottom," she replied coquettishly.

He tilted her head back and kissed her possessively before retrieving a small pillow, which he placed in her chair. She winced when she sat, despite the reinforcement.

Only then did he unbind her wrists. He coiled the rope and handed it to Jane Marie. "Pass that to Robert, please," he said. "I don't need it anymore but he may have a use for it since his bride hasn't yet felt its discipline."

Jane Marie burned brightly, drawing a giggle from her mother and a laugh from my father. She passed the rope to me with an expression that dared me to use it while evidencing her desire to feel it upon her.

Father and Mrs. Whitfield were two cooing lovebirds during dinner. The glow of their happiness shone throughout the room to infect Jane Marie and me and all the staff with a pleasant warmness. Father was puffed and proud of his new woman and his conquest of her. She bore the clear demeanor of a woman in love with, and aroused by, her man.

Over dessert, Mrs. Whitfield said, "I've accepted Bruce's marriage proposal."

Jane Marie and I enthusiastically gave our heartiest congratulations with smiles and handshakes and hugs all around. Clearly, the two were in love now and, from Father's confession to me, had been in love for years.

After Jane Marie and I returned to our chairs, Mrs. Whitfield continued, saying, "If you don't mind, we'll be married by the priest when he comes here to perform your marriage."

"We would be delighted to share the priest with you," I said, and Jane Marie voiced the same conclusion.

"Until then, I'm going to move to Ironwood so we can be together," she confided.

"We'll leave in the morning," Father said. "Should I dispatch James to retrieve Mary Elizabeth's belongings?"

"I'll have Samuel bring them over," I replied. "And I'll have him take Constance Anne with him. I know Elizabeth would like to see her."

"Wonderful idea," Father replied.

We talked of weddings and couples and bright shining futures, of them at Ironwood and Jane Marie and me at Whitlands. I promised to reserve Mrs. Whitfield's bedroom in The Manor for their exclusive use when they stayed with us.

"Ah, a bedroom here in The Manor," Father said. "Stand up, girl."

"Bruce," Mrs. Whitfield said, stifling a giggle, but she quickly rose. He hefted her in his arms and strode down the hall. She looked back at us with an angelic countenance and said, "Good night, children. Sweet dreams."

"We will be that happy," I said.

"Yes," Jane Marie sighed. "We will."

Love for my intended rushed through me like water from a burst weir. I stood, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her passionately, receiving love as heated in return, as our embrace added fuel to both our fires. I contemplated dragging her to my bed at that moment when I heard girlish giggles. Ebony and Fancy watched from the kitchen door.

Jane Marie stood on tip toes to whisper in my ear, "I want you every bit as much, but we must wait." She kissed my cheek and ran toward the stairs and her room. Ebony was openly happy as she watched us, but Fancy's concern flickered in her eyes.

"I'll stay in the guest house tonight," I called to Ebony as I strode toward the front door. I preferred the guest house to The Manor's bedroom, for Ebony and I had taken to roaming naked through it and not restricting our romps to the bedroom.

After instructing Samuel about the morrow, I went to the guest house to find Ebony naked by the fire. I disrobed as she watched from the floor. I pulled her to her feet, lifted her into my arms, and carried her to bed to copulate until we were exhausted and sleep took us away.

The next morning, Father and Mrs. Whitfield departed early for Ironwood on horseback, and Samuel transported her personal possessions and Constance Anne by buckboard. I spent the day hard at work and the evening with Jane Marie. She and I were in the front porch swing that evening after dinner when Samuel returned. To our surprise, Patience was with him.

Patience handed me an envelope and said, "It is a letter from Master Bruce. He asked that you read it in private."

I kissed my intended good night and retired to the guest house for the night with Ebony and Patience. I opened Father's envelope to find two papers, one a document transferring ownership of Patience to me and the other a letter.

The letter read: "Patience is yours now for reasons I will explain when next we meet. Like her daughter, she is a woman who enjoys pleasing a man. I am sure you will not deny her that pleasure."

I asked Patience, "Do you know what this letter says?"

South Carolina law prohibited the teaching of Negroes, free or slave, to read or write. I was not surprised when Patience replied, "I didn't read it, but Master Bruce told me he gave me to you and that I am now your slave." She smiled sweetly. "I shall be pleased to serve you, Master Robert."

"As you served Mr. Whitfield and my Father?"

"Of course, Master Robert. I would be sorely disappointed if my service was any less."

I looked at Ebony expectantly, only to be surprised by her lack of possessiveness. She said, "You're master enough for more than one woman, Bobby," which surprised Patience at Ebony's use of the familiar name for me and warmed me by the compliment.

I flopped back onto the chesterfield and Ebony and Patience knelt beside me. I studied my slaves and contemplated the swirling currents in my river of life. I must admit while I was eager to enjoy Patience, I was indecisive as to how to proceed for I was a novice in multiple-person copulation. A larger part of my hesitation was my desire to not bring heartache to Ebony, for she and I were developing a stronger relationship than mere flesh and I wished to deepen it further.

Ebony read my thoughts for she said, "Mother and I have previously laid on each side of a man, Bobby. One of us would wait and watch as he took the other, or we both would please him at the same time. We have lain side by side as a man mounted each of us. We have pleased another man while our master watched. And we have pleasured each other as our master or his friends watched us. Both of us will do anything you ask."

I had heard gossip from other boys of sex between women and of sex between men. The latter was anathema to me so I banished it all from my mind as inaccurate childhood rumors. Yet, I could easily see Patience and Ebony openly giving and receiving pleasure with their own gender.

"Please each other?" I said.

"Yes, Master," Patience answered. "We would never do it, or provide any other pleasure to anyone, without your permission," she continued with trepidation.

"He knows that, Mother," Ebony said, revealing her trust in me and assuaging her mother's concerns.

My manhood reacted to their words and my thoughts, and I was stirred to action. "Let me see you, Patience," I said.

She gracefully stood, slipped her dress over her head, and tossed it aside. Patience's breasts, easily as large as her elder daughter's, hung lower on her chest, and her hip bones had a wider spread. She was quite appealing with a deportment both devoid of modesty and full of sensuality.

I went to her to learn her shape with my hands, which pleased her as she studied me with a passive lewdness. As I hefted her right breast and stroked it with my thumb, I felt the ridge of an old scar that came from below and crossed across her areola to end above the breast. I turned her as my hands followed that ridge to her back where I discovered permanent evidence of a long-ago whipping. Her back bore the lash's trail as if four were received there, with three more across her buttocks and one on the back of her legs.

"Who gave you these?" I asked.

"Master Edward did, Master Robert."

"Ebony said he beat her but she doesn't bear these marks," I said.

"Master Edward only used the light whip on her, Master. He used the bullwhip on me."

As I stroked the scars on her buttocks, I could think of nothing a woman as willing as Patience to obey her Master could do to deserve such treatment. However, Father's words from our journey concerning whipping a woman came back to me, raising the question if Patience was always so eager to please, or the whip made her that way.

Even my wanton Ebony felt the whip before her first intercourse, raising the same issue with her. I contemplated Jane Marie, Father's comments about spanking her, and the lust for me I saw in her face. And I thought of Fancy, who seemed more than frightened at the prospects of taking my cock. Perhaps Mr. Whitfield was correct in beginning his slave-girls with the whip's encouragement.

"May we undress you?" Ebony asked.

"Of course," I replied.

Four hands busy at undressing perform the task quickly, yet the pace was maddening for I was anxious for Patience. When I was in my natural state, Ebony said, "Why don't you and Mother lie by the fire here while I build the fire in the bedroom?"

Patience waited for my signal before lying back on the soft rug in front of the center room's fire. I lay with her and kissed her. She wrapped her fingers around my cock and pulled it to her.

As I enjoyed my second woman for the first time, I discovered women may appear to be the same but are different, each with a unique feel and taste and touch. My ride with Patience was a silent canter compared to the noisy gallop Ebony often gave me.

The greatest difference was the depth of their emotion. Patience was pleasing me as she would any man, but Ebony and I had transcended mere flesh to rise to a more ethereal exchange. That is not to cast aspersions at Patience, for she was a happy and pleasurable partner. Rather it is to say there was an emotional coupling between Ebony and I that Patience and I would never have.

After I climaxed with Patience's arms and legs around me, I became aware of Ebony kneeling on the floor beside us and watching. Her face was open and sensual, without a hint of displeasure at my copulation with her mother. I rolled on my back and Ebony leaned toward me, kissing my belly near the navel and nibbling her way down to take my cock in her mouth.

"Let's get in bed," I said. She stood, offered her hands to help us arise, and we three stumbled into bed with Patience on my left and Ebony on my right. I pulled Ebony to me and kissed her. As we kissed, my manhood pushed its way between her thighs to rub against her the bud of her cunt.

"Please fuck me, Bobby," she said softly and ripe with love.

I crawled upon her and she guided me into her with her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck as we experienced each other with an intensity only lovers share. Our coupling was slow, letting the physical and mental of intercourse take us both away to new heights until we reached our rewards together.

The next day as I worked, visions of Ebony and Patience pleasuring each other continually intervened in my thoughts. I had only one concern - the potential impact on my relationship with Ebony. I knew other men - other slave owners - would demand their performance without the slightest regard for either of them, and, in truth, consideration of Patience's feelings gave me only a momentary pause.

Ebony was another matter entirely. I decided to test the issue head-on by returning to The Manor during the afternoon where I found Ebony in the kitchen, assisting in the preparation of dinner. She was surprised by my presence, but followed me into the rear yard.

"Would it displease you if I wanted to observe you with Patience?" I asked.

Her face brightened and she spoke truthfully from her heart, saying, "You don't know how happy I am that you asked. Thank you." She took a tiny step and raised her head in preparation to bring her lips to mine, but stopped and appeared embarrassed. Father's words about a mistress coming to her man only in the dark of night played in my mind. Ebony stepped back and said, "You're the only person I want to lie with, Bobby, but as your woman, I want to please you. Doing as you want far outweighs any hesitation I might have." She giggled at my countenance. "Can you wait until tonight?" she teased.

"I should return to my labors," I replied. She batted her eyelashes and thrust out her chest. "Temptress," I scolded.

"I only want to make my master happy," she replied sultrily.

"I'll be happy tonight," I said. "Now back into the kitchen."

"Yes, Master," she replied. She swayed back to the house with her dress tight around her and her buttocks thrust back to entice with every step. When she was inside, I mounted Palmetto and returned to the fields.

Fortunately that night, Jane Marie was tired and we agreed to end our evening early. I went to the Guest House, built the fire, and disrobed to wait impatiently for my slaves to finish their labors in The Manor. When they arrived, Ebony saw my erection. Grinning widely but without speaking, she fell to her knees in front of me, using hands and mouth to quickly bring my ejaculation, which she swallowed as she always did.

"Feel better, Bobby?" she teased as she licked a dab of sperm from her lip. I grunted affirmatively. "Now you can watch us less painfully," she said. She stood, removed her dress, and tossed it aside.

I anticipated the mother would direct the child and their play would be gentle and slow, but Ebony was a demanding aggressor, swatting Patience on the ass with a resounding smack, and commanding her to lie prone. When Patience promptly obeyed, Ebony squatted over her mouth and commanded, "Do me well, Mother."

I lay down beside Patience with my head next to hers. From that vantage point, I could see her lips and tongue on Ebony's cunt and Ebony's face as she enjoyed the pleasure her mother brought her.

More importantly, as Ebony's dear face reflected her rising passions, I could see what was not there - what had been missing when first she and I copulated and what was missing now. That is a reflection of desires and feelings beyond the physical. Still, Ebony did dearly enjoy sex in all its forms and watching her aroused my animal needs and made it difficult for me to only observe and not participate.

Her hands trailed up her body to roughly seize her breasts, and twist and pull her teats in tempo to her mother's tongue lashing her sex. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, as she writhed in passion's grip.

Patience's eyes were wide as she watched her daughter's face. Her hands stroked the flesh of Ebony's thighs. And her own legs were tightly pressed together as her pubis humped the air.

When her lips covered Ebony's protruding love button, Ebony moaned, "That's it, Mother." Their tempo hurried as Ebony thrust her cunt against her mother's mouth. Ebony groaned with her face distorted in her climax as her mother's cheeks hollowed in her effort until Ebony slumped forward, gasping for breath.

When Ebony rolled aside, I mounted Patience to ride her cunt until my own climax came. As I drifted to sleep with Ebony and Patience pressed tightly against me, I realized watching them have sex with each other was pleasant but not pleasurable for me. I was a man of action, wishing to participate rather than observe.

-------

The next three weeks sped by in a flash, with days spent in building Whitlands, evenings spent with my bride-to-be, and nights spent with both Ebony and Patience, unless one was absent because she was in The Manor with Fancy.

When the wedding was only three days away, Father and Mrs. Whitfield returned to Whitlands, bringing Elizabeth and Constance Anne with them. I had never seen Father or Mrs. Whitfield look happier. We spent a boisterous evening reveling in the dining room, but before we departed, Father asked to speak to me alone. I directed Patience and Ebony to await me in the guest house and followed Father down the front steps toward the stand of decorative trees. There he faced me and spoke with intensity.

"I have come to the seat of Mary Elizabeth's feelings concerning Patience and her late husband, and I have discovered something you need to understand," he said. I nodded. "Do you know the term 'Sapphic love?'"

"No, I don't," I replied.

"It is when one woman has sex with another, using hands and mouth and body to bring the other to climax," Father said.

"Ebony and Patience do that, but they didn't give it a name," I said.

"That is what it is called," Father continued. "I told you Edward suspected Mary Elizabeth of adultery. His punishment was to deny her himself, which was to deny her any man, while he availed himself of Patience. About a year after her enforced celibacy began, he caught her masturbating and multiplied her punishment. He ordered a female slave to spend every waking moment with her and deny her self-pleasure if she sought it, which increased her sexual frustration and further humiliated her because the slaves knew her predicament.

"By night, he bound her to her bed with ropes to deny her nocturnal release, but his cruelty did not end there. He commanded Patience to have Sapphic love with her each night, to bring her to desire's deliriums and then deny her the climax she desperately needed. Edward would spew invectives to debase her further while he watched his wife's torture. He often finished by copulating with Patience as Mary Elizabeth lay bound and unrequited next to them.

"He ceased this Hell only when Mary Elizabeth was broken, with her female needs so deeply buried as to be unrecoverable."

"But they were recoverable," I said.

"Thank God, yes, but that is not the point. Mary Elizabeth hated him for doing that to her and hated Patience for her part."

"I saw the marks he left on Patience's back, so I suspect she did it out of fear of her own punishment."

"At first, but Mary Elizabeth says Patience grew to enjoy the sexual acts themselves," Father divulged. "Still, the tale is not yet told."

I had a queer feeling in my gut.

"Mary Elizabeth was further angered because Patience introduced her daughters to Sapphic love and they taught Jane Marie. While Ebony enjoys it as she enjoys any sex, Fancy seems particularly addicted to it. She and Jane Marie are lovers, Robert, and have been for several years."

I was lightheaded, dumb, and rooted to the spot. The implications for a happy marriage were clear. Father waited patiently, forcing me to address problems thrown at me and come to my own conclusions. I was in control of my emotions when I spoke.

"Fancy spends each night in The Manor. From what you just told me, I suspect she sleeps with Jane Marie rather than in her own room," I said.

"That is probably correct," Father replied.

"If Jane Marie is addicted to Fancy and Sapphic love with her, I will deal with that problem. It is no reason to cancel our marriage, for the reasons to wed are separate and apart from sex," I said.

"Correct, but how will you deal with it?" he asked.

"That depends on whether Jane Marie prefers Fancy or me, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and let me add that Jane Marie does love you and has yet to experience sex with a man."

"Which mean she doesn't know if she prefers a man or a woman until after the marriage," I replied.

"You're a shrewd man, my son," he said with pride.

"One more thing, Father," I said. "Does Mrs. Whitfield wish retribution against Patience?"

"No. I burst that reservoir of discontent, but I do not wish to test the waters by keeping Patience nearby." He smiled warmly. "Mary Elizabeth's ardor is bringing me happiness beyond my expectations. I will do nothing to dampen it."

We talked moments more before parting, he to The Manor and I to the guest house. When I entered, Ebony and Patience were sitting on the chesterfield, both naked as was my preference in their dress. They smiled and rose, each coming to me for kisses before they undressed me.

After we found our pleasures and they, as always, lay beside me, I thought of Father's revelations and of my bride-to-be and the three slave-women who were an essential portion of our lives. I was contemplating if Jane Marie was addicted to Fancy and to Sapphic love when it dawned on me that I was addicted to Ebony and had no intention of surrendering my pleasures with her. Patience was another matter. As Jane Marie had said, she was pleasant and compliant, all-in-all an ideal slave, but I could be separated from her without great protest.

While I had a modicum of disquietude as to Jane Marie's ultimate sexual loyalties, I had no doubt she loved me and would be an excellent wife. Still, I wondered what the future would bring.



-------

Chapter 6: Husband and Wife


The day before the wedding ceremonies was spent in final preparation. The manor gleamed with fresh polish and the seamstresses applied the final touches to the ladies' dresses. Jonah and his sons butchered a bull calf and left it to hang until the wee hours of the night when they would roast it for our guests.

We welcomed early arrivals who would bed down in tents on the grounds that night, except for Charles Barrows, a close friend to both Father and the late Mr. Whitfield. He, his new wife, and his twin ten-year-old daughters by his first wife occupied the guest house. Those daughters, Pearl and Ruby, reminded me of Jane Marie both in appearance and in attitude, for they were high-spirited and winsome. That night, with music provided by three slave fiddlers, the guests danced in the glow from The Manor's oil lamps while the slaves danced in their quarter under the light of the moon.

When the evening's festivities were complete, I retired to the late Mr. Whitfield's bedroom, which Jane Marie and I would occupy after the wedding. When Ebony and Patience joined me, I commanded them to sit, fully clothed, on the edge of the bed. Patience was apprehensive but Ebony waited calmly as I paced the floor before them.

"I know Jane Marie and Fancy are lovers," I said. "What I do not know is whether that love is broad and deep, or of a more superficial and merely physical nature."

"We can tell you what we think, Bobby," Ebony said.

"Ebony," Patience whispered.

"I won't lie to him, Mother, and don't you either," Ebony said sharply, causing Patience to draw back.

Father's comments about the apprehension a slave woman must have about revealing her emotions to her master popped to mind, for my sweet Ebony had no such hesitation now. She, like I, knew our relationship had grown beyond the sexual into a strong emotional bond, although neither of us had said it. Perhaps she read in my countenance my own feelings for her, for she stood, stepped to me, and put her arms around my neck. I held her tenderly and she held me as Patience observed, and in her observation realized the depth of the feelings Ebony and I shared. That realization loosened her tongue.

When Ebony sat down again, Patience resumed the discussion, saying, "Fancy is afraid of men. She always has been, but her fear became a demon possessing her the night she watched Master Edward whip Ebony. She couldn't stop crying for a week."

Ebony said, "Jane Marie has been protective of her and Fancy uses that for her gain."

"Is that how Fancy avoided Mr. Whitfield taking her as he took the two of you?" I asked.

"Yes, it is. Jane Marie begged her father to leave Fancy alone and he did," Patience replied.

"Was that to have Fancy to herself?"

"I don't think so," Patience replied.

"I know it wasn't," Ebony interjected. "Jane Marie is like me, Bobby. She enjoys sex with a woman, and knows it is better than your own hand but not as good as with a man."

"Jane Marie hasn't had a man, has she?" I asked.

"Of course not," Ebony answered.

"Then how does she know a man is better?"

Patience and Ebony both appeared to be embarrassed, but Ebony said, "Every day she wants to know everything we did with you and we tell her. She is eagerly anticipating intercourse with you. Have no doubt. Jane Marie loves you and will be a good wife."

Patience was surprised that knowledge didn't anger me, but it did not. In truth, I was secretly pleased Jane Marie knew and did not object. "Tell me more about Fancy and Jane Marie," I said.

"While Jane Marie enjoys lying with Fancy, the root of her feeling is sisterly compassion, with carnal pleasures being a tasty extra. Fancy feels differently. She hates men and sees Jane Marie as both her principle lover and as a shield to protect herself from men's lances," Ebony said.

I looked at Patience, who said, "I agree, Master Robert."

"And she sees you as the man who will take Jane Marie from her, so she fears you greatly," Ebony said.

"How do you suggest I proceed?" I asked.

Patience shrugged. Ebony, however, replied, "You must strip away Jane Marie's protection so Fancy knows she must obey only you."

"And if she doesn't obey me?" I asked.

"Then you must whip her as a slave-girl is meant to be whipped, naked and tied to the slave's tree."

Patience shivered remembering that feeling. "That won't be necessary," she said softly. "If Fancy truly believes you will whip her, she will do anything to avoid it."

"But the whipping would banish any doubt she has about my resolve to direct her," I said.

"She'll believe you once Jane Marie's protection is removed," Patience said, and Ebony voiced her concurrence.

"How will Jane Marie respond?" I asked.

"I know she wants to be your wife and lover, but she still wants no harm to come to her sister. If you whip Fancy at the tree, Jane Marie will be sorely vexed. How she will ultimately behave as a result, I don't know," Ebony replied. "As for Fancy, Mother is right. You must make one thing undeniably clear to her - obedience to you, not Jane Marie, will be rewarded and disobedience will be harshly and swiftly punished by the whip."

Ebony's and Patience's unequivocal statements confirmed and clarified my thoughts about Fancy from my observation of her. One thing was clear. I could not sell Fancy, for Jane Marie would miss her too much.

"Where is the whip Mr. Whitfield used on you, Ebony?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied.

"It's in the closet in his office," Patience said.

"Go get it," I commanded. "And bring any rope you might find."

By the time Patience returned with the whip and a coil of rope, I was naked except for the bottom to my longjohns. I took the whip from her and commanded them to quietly accompany me. With the key to Jane Marie's room in my other hand, we stealthily climbed the stairs until we stood outside her room, where we could hear groanings of pleasure within. I unlocked the door and surreptitiously opened it.

Although I expected to catch Jane Marie and Fancy enjoying each other, I was unprepared for what I saw. Jane Marie was naked and bound wrist and knee to the headboard of her bed, which bent her knees and opened them widely, and raised her bloated and dripping pinkness off the bed, exposing it to Fancy, who was tormenting her and making her beg for her needed release. A small ivory phallus jutting from Jane Marie's cunt enhanced Fancy's stimulation of her.

Watching them gave me a burning desire to participate by leaping upon Jane Marie and burying my cock in her, but my needs were nothing compared to hers, for she was fevered with desire. Ebony and Patience watched through the door as I walked toward the bed to observe more closely.

I was pleased with the lushness of Jane Marie's body as well as the heat it generated, for her breasts were larger than I imagined and rested high on her chest with small and hard nipples, and her legs were long and supple. The hair below her waist was as rich and dark as the hair on her head. Her flower was in full bloom, a most delightful sight, and her love button stood prominently erect, ready for a cock or tongue or finger to detonate it.

I covered her mouth with my hand and her eyes flew open as she screamed in horror and frantically fought to free herself. Between Jane Marie's pale white legs, Fancy looked up and saw me. She covered her face, shook, and sobbed into her hands.

"Be still, Jane Marie," I demanded. I turned to Fancy and said, "Fancy, stand there (I pointed to a spot on the floor) with your hands behind your head and your legs spread."

I turned back to Jane Marie and said, "It's no wonder you appeared so eager when Father handed me the rope that night. I see you enjoy its feel."

Jane Marie was, in an instant, as red as the brightest flower and her expression was as wanton as her mother's the night she reappeared with my father from their sojourn in the guest house.

"Do not speak a word, my lusty bride-to-be," I commanded. She nodded and I uncovered her mouth.

I turned to the terrified slave girl and snapped, "Quit your crying, Fancy." I stepped to Fancy and she drew back. "Never step away from me. Put your hands behind your head or I shall bind you that way," I commanded dramatically. Shaking as if bitterly cold and with tears flowing like rain, Fancy complied.

"Are you my slave, Fancy?" I asked her.

"Yes, Master," she sobbed.

"I own all of you, don't I?"

"Yes, Master."

"I own your breasts, don't I," I said, cupping them in my hands.

"Yes, Master."

I touched her right nipple with my left index finger before slowly trailing the finger down across her belly and to the bush below. I gently stroked the flower between her legs.

"I own your cunt, don't I?" I said as I drove a finger into her love passage.

"Yes, Master," she gasped.

"Some men think all women should be whipped before they are first used to insure their eager obedience. Your mother was so whipped and you watched Ebony on the slave's tree, didn't you?"

Poor Fancy was too distraught to speak. All she could do was shudder and sob and nod her head.

"Do you need to be whipped, Fancy?" I asked as I glowered at her.

"No, Master."

I turned toward Jane Marie. She trembled as I stepped to stand over her, but her trembling, as her countenance screamed, was desire and not fear. I kissed her hungrily before saying, "I am not in any way displeased with you, and I do love you deeply."

"I love you, too, Bobby," she whispered.

"Tell Fancy you will not protect her from me."

Jane Marie hesitated, which was not a surprise for I was asking her to do something she had never done. Had I thought she would not do it, I would not have asked.

"Fancy, you are Master Robert's slave and you will obey his every word. I myself will whip you if you displease him," she said strongly.

Hearing Jane Marie's words, Fancy swooned to lie prostrate on the floor.

"You two take Fancy to my room. Patience, return here to spend the night with Jane Marie. Ebony, stay with Fancy until I return," I said.

As they struggled to revive and move the unconscious girl, I turned toward Jane Marie. I released my erect cock from the confines of my longjohns, and it bounced in the air above her face. She gasped when it appeared and her eyes widened as she stared at it.

"See what you've done to me. Too bad we have to wait until we're married," I said. With the tip of a finger, I stroked her cunt lips before pulling the phallus from her. Of hand polished ivory and approximately four inches long, it was smooth as silk and slippery from her love juices.

"I'm bound. I can't stop you from taking me now," she said hopefully.

"No. It's best to wait until we're married," I replied as I continued stroking her.

"No, it's not," she retorted. Her countenance darkened when I leered devilishly at her. "Fuck me, Bobby," she demanded.

I guided my manhood to caress her cheek. She tried to take it in her mouth but I pulled away.

"Tomorrow, my love, you will have all of this shaft buried repeatedly within you, but for now, this will have to do." I covered her mouth with my hand and lowered my mouth to the rigid protrusion that was the seat of her womanly desires to take it between my lips and flick it rapidly with my tongue as Ebony had taught me. Her sweet girlish cunt rose to meet me to the extent her restraints allowed, vacillating as her love juices gushed into my mouth and her scream, despite my hand, filled the air. I removed my hand and she gasped for breath.

"Patience will release you when she returns, but no more pleasure for either of you. We have an important day tomorrow," I said. I kissed her heartily and left her there.

As I walked out of the room, she called after me, "I love you, Bobby."

I passed Patience on the stairs and instructed her to release Jane Marie's bonds and to stay with her. When I returned to my room, Fancy was on the bed with Ebony sitting beside her and telling her something I couldn't overhear. When they realized I was there, Ebony quickly stood aside. Fancy lay prone and her eyes reflected the horror possessing her.

"I own you, Fancy. When it pleases me, I will fuck you. You have no choice about that," I said to her. "You do have a choice about being whipped. Bring me pleasure and enjoyment and I won't whip you. Displease me and I will. But whether you please or displease me, I will do with you as I want and I want to fuck you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Master," she answered in a dead voice.

I brought the whip down across the front of her bare thighs, making her scream and thrash and rub her legs with histrionics exceeding their cause.

"I whipped you because your face and tone of voice displeased me," I said to Fancy. "I will be ruthless in correcting you, for I want you to be most eager to make me happy."

Father, who was sleeping with my soon-to-be step-mother in the next bedroom, appeared at our door with a pistol in his hand. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fancy is tasting the whip to see if it's to her liking," I explained.

"It's about time," he said coldly. "Call me if you need," he said before returning to his own room.

I said to Fancy, "Ebony calls me Bobby and Patience calls me Robert, but you will only call me Master." I held the whip out to her. "Take this and keep it close at hand. Carry it with you during the day, so it will be nearby if I want to whip you." Her hand shook as she took the whip from me. "I'm going to the outer-house. Be naked and in bed when I return."

"Yes, Master," she said with resignation.

By the time I returned to my bedroom, my plans for Fancy had changed from taking her that night to using a ploy suggested by Father's revelations concerning Mrs. Whitfield.

Seeing Fancy and Ebony in bed when I returned, I ordered Fancy to extend her arms over her head. I bound her wrists with the rope and tied them to the bed's corner post before I finished undressing and lay on the bed between them. I kissed sweet Ebony, rolled toward Fancy, and rested prone with my head propped up in my hand.

"I have no desire to whip you," I said as I rested my hand on her taut stomach. She squirmed under my touch. "But I am your master and I will enjoy all of a master's prerogatives. You are my slave and you will serve me as I want."

I explored Fancy's body as she lay bound and contemplating her fate. Fancy was the most lean of the four women in my life, with small, hard breasts and narrower hips. Her teats were large and well formed, and, as I soon discovered, swelled nicely when suckled. Her waist was smaller, too, and her legs seemed void of any fat even on the inside of her thighs.

When I touched her cunt, her legs snapped shut. "You know better than that," I chided. "Open your legs to welcome me."

She complied, for her terror of being whipped exceeded her fear of my possessing her. I stroked the bud of her cunt and tested her tunnel to find it devoid of moisture. Using my mouth against her breasts and torso and my hand on her sex, I stimulated Fancy until her cunt was dripping and beads of sweat glistened on her breasts and stomach. Then I stopped.

"Fancy," I said, "You may not give or receive pleasure without my express permission. Ebony, you are charged with spending every waking moment with her. If she seeks pleasure, whether from others or by her own hand, you will tell me and I will whip her."

"Yes, Master," Ebony said subserviently.

"If I am not with you at night, you will bind and tease her, but keep her from release, as I have done tonight."

"Yes, Master," Ebony said.

"You are welcome to your pleasure, Fancy," I said. "But you must come to me to receive it."

I rolled over and into Ebony's eager arms to feel her happy hands and body against mine. I mounted Ebony and we once again enjoyed our release together. Fancy's eyes never left me.

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The next morning, I was awakened early by Ebony's gentle stroking and nuzzling. Fancy lay awake beside me. I kissed Ebony, released Fancy, reminded them both of my instructions to Ebony concerning Fancy's behavior, and dressed for the day in my formal attire.

I went to the dining room where Melissa and the other servants were laying out breakfast for our guests. In addition to those who spent the night at Whitlands, we were expecting many more arrivals that day. Food would be served throughout the morning and again after the ceremony.

Since Mrs. Whitfield would not appear until later, Father and I spent the morning being the hosts, which was a joyous duty, for the adults - the farmers and businessmen and others who were Father's friends - treated me as an adult. Six weeks ago when I first was given that honor, I was elated by it. Since then, much water had passed under the bridge and my maturity had sprouted and grown with each drop of it. That day, I felt I belonged there, and I assure you, that was a good feeling.

Patience, Ebony, and Fancy assisted in the serving, although their duty was light. They wore identical dresses made for them at Jane Marie's insistence - cotton in a sky blue color, high necked, and with sleeves coming to their elbows. They wore corsets underneath, which was a first for Ebony and Fancy. The dresses fit their forms tightly to their waist and fell freely below. Each of them was appealing, but Ebony's sparkling face set her apart from her mother and sister.

About ten, Mrs. Whitfield appeared. When she entered the room, conversation ceased and a collective gasp rose from the assemblage, for she was quite beautiful both in her attire and in the glow of happiness radiating from within her.

Her dress, in dark burgundy velvet with wide piping in a red satin, began at the points of her shoulders and sloped to the valley between the hills of her breasts. It fit snugly over her corseted torso and fell from her waist over only a few layers of petticoats, making it appear more trim than was common at the time. A red satin rose nestled in the center, its top touching the dress' neckline. Her hair was straight about her head until eye level. From there, it fell in tight ringlets. The choker around her neck was a white and blue porcelain cameo attached to a red satin ribbon.

She glided through the room like a queen, head high and back straight, talking animatedly with her guests and graciously accepting their compliments. More than once I heard someone say they had never seen her so happy. Father was constantly at her side and his joy equaled hers, as our guests noted.

About eleven, Ebony and Fancy came to me seeking permission to quit their duties in order to assist Jane Marie in preparation of the ceremony. I gave Ebony permission, but ordered Fancy to follow me to my bedroom. Once there, I shut the door behind us. Fancy stood in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her and her face full of dread.

"You're a beautiful woman, Fancy," I said to her. The compliment rendered her mute for I doubt any man had ever told that, but it was true. "I'm glad I own you and that you're part of my family."

"Thank you, Master," she said with trepidation.

"I know you love Jane Marie and love your sexual pleasures with her." She didn't answer but none was expected. "Don't be a silly girl and fight me. Realize that I won't hurt you if you please me, and when I am pleased with you, I'll allow you pleasure and share you with Jane Marie if she wishes."

I took a step toward her. She flinched but didn't draw away. "Raise your skirt for me," I said.

I feared she would burst into tears as she slowly raised her skirt, but she controlled herself. Without my asking, she spread her legs to give me access to what she knew I wanted. I lightly stroked the lips of her sex as I studied her face.

"Do you like that?" I asked softly when I saw the first signs of arousal in her.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"And do you like this?" I asked as I tugged on her love button.

"Yes, Master," she said as her passions flamed.

I ceased tantalizing her and lightly kissed her closed lips. "Remember I will bring you pleasure when you please me," I said firmly but not cruelly. "Now go help your mistress."

For her own reasons, she restrained her desire to plead with me for her release. She dropped her skirt and followed me out the door. She scurried away, but stopped to look back at me before she disappeared upstairs.

Our wedding ceremony was to be at high noon on the broad, grassy knoll on The Manor's west side. An altar on a raised dais built by Ironwood's carpentry shop was where we would pledge our vows as our guests stood in the open field around us.

Shortly before that hour, Pastor Simonton told me the time was near. I called for silence. When it fell, I asked our guests to join me before the altar. I took Mrs. Whitfield's arm to escort her as we led the way to the wedding site.

Jane Marie had asked Father to give her away, since her own father was deceased. He gladly agreed. She had decided to have only one attendant, her mother, standing for her. Father was my best man. Pearl and Ruby Barrows served as flower girls and Phillip Jefferson, a young man of six, served as ring bearer. Patience, Ebony, and Fancy would stand at the front but on the far side to observe the ceremony.

As I stood awaiting my bride, my heart was in my throat in eager longing for her. When she appeared on my father's arm in preparation of walking to the altar, I was struck dumb by her beauty and the import of the moment.

"Breathe, Robert," Pastor Simonton said quietly.

Her dress was brilliant white with a long train, and with a veil covering her hair and face. All I could see was white, but I saw where it narrowed around her waist and flared again below. Little did our parents or guests know that last night I saw all of her and tasted her sweetness and gave her delight, or that my adventure with her inflamed my already burning appetite to make her mine.

My singular focus and intensity began the moment I saw her on my father's arm and continued throughout the ceremony, which was too long by far as every groom must feel. When Parson Simonton said, "You may kiss the bride," I lifted the veil to reveal Jane Marie and her shining face that radiated her happiness and love for me. I kissed my bride, receiving a kiss like no other.

Father and Mrs. Whitfield planned to have the Parson wed them after the guests and we exited the wedding area, but after we trod the aisle to its end, I stopped, asked the guests to remain in place, and announced another wedding. The roar of the crowd was most rewarding. I stood beside Father to serve as his best man as he had done minutes before for me, and Jane Marie served her mother as matron of honor.

After that double wedding, brides and grooms and guests danced and dined and shared in the happiness, for it was a blessed day.

Late that night, when the guests were gone or asleep and the slaves were quiet and the day was done, I carried Jane Marie, still in her white wedding dress, into our bedroom.

When her feet touched the floor, she said, "You scared me to death last night when you barged in like that."

"Good. Remember, I am now your husband and, therefore, your master."

"Master? Ha," she said. "If Ebony can seduce you out of her punishment, I know I can."

"You knew about that?" I said innocently.

"You knew I did because Ebony told me she told you. We share everything. I know you have her every night and most mornings. I know about Patience. And I know your plan to terrify Fancy into obedience rather than actually whipping her." She smiled and wrapped her arms around my waist to peer into my face. "I have no objections to your mistresses, whether the slaves you have now or others in the future." She kissed me tenderly. "I know that even if you have a hundred Ebonys, I am your one and only true love, just as you know that you, not Fancy or Ebony, are my one and only true love."

"Jane Marie, although you have no objection about them, I would strenuously protest if..."

"Bobby MacKenzie, don't you dare say it," she interrupted with blazing eyes. "I love you with all my heart and soul. That love and my own honor are the reasons I will never commit adultery." She grinned wantonly. "Of course, I don't consider Sapphic love to be adultery."

"Oh, you don't?"

"No. I plan to enjoy it when it suits me."

"You're going to be a rare handful, aren't you?" I asked.

"Yes, and I'm well worth every minute of it."

She put her arms around my neck and we kissed. I well knew from our kisses and touches and the way she looked at me that our love was unlike any other, not only in the brightness of its flame but in the depth and breadth of its fire.

"Now, husband of mine, I understand the word is fuck. I know what it means. Show me how to do it."

For some reason I don't understand, my desire to have her quickly had diminished as my desire to have her increased, a strange juxtaposition indeed. I carefully lay aside her veil, then her wedding dress, then her corset and hose.

"Hurry up, Bobby," she demanded as she yanked my waistcoat from me.

"Didn't your mother instruct you to be a hesitant maiden?" I teased.

"Yes, but while I'm a maiden, I'm not in the least hesitant. I've wanted your cock in me since I first learned men have cocks and women have cunts to hold them." Her fingers were busy opening my shirt. "Besides, the ivory phallus Fancy uses is a pale miniature of what I saw last night and I'm eager to have the real thing."

She flopped back of the bed, wantonly spread her legs, and stroked her wetness with her fingertips. "See?" she asked, holding her glistening fingers out to me.

In seconds, I joined her on the bed and she wrapped her fingers around my manhood. "God, you're big," she whispered as she guided me into position.

As I stared down into her face so lustful and alive, I knew I was a man blessed and my life would be most unique.

"Oh, Bobby," she moaned as the head of my cock slipped between the lips of her cunt. "Fuck me. Fuck me long and hard."

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Epilogue



MacKenzie Farms Inc.
P. O. Box 1
MacKenzieville, Missouri

March 15, 2001

Mr. Edward L. MacKenzie
2727 South Main Street
Laguna Madre, California

Dear Edward,

I have received your letter and the genealogical charts you sent. Genealogy is a passion of mine and I share your desires to uncover your ancestors. This letter will clarify part of the problem you encountered in your search, but it won't give you definitive answers. Those answers will require both more extensive research by you and luck.

I have in my possession the MacKenzie family Bibles and, more importantly, journals kept by Robert James MacKenzie Sr. from his age of sixteen in 1839 to his death in 1919 at the ripe old age of ninety-six when he was claimed by the St.-Louis-strain encephalitis epidemic that took twenty million lives worldwide. I will hereinafter refer to him as RJ1. The information I am providing in this letter came almost exclusively from his journals, which are long and rich in detail.

RJ1 was the first child of Robert Bruce MacKenzie (hereinafter RB1) and his first wife, Constance Anne Courtlandt.

RJ1 married Jane Marie Whitfield (hereinafter JMW) on April 27, 1839 at Whitlands plantation. On the same day RB1 married Mary Elizabeth Brunson Whitfield, Jane Marie's mother and the widow of Edward Whitfield. I understand this was not too uncommon at the time, although it made Mary Elizabeth both the mother-in-law and step-mother of RJ1.

The problem with your research and with any research into this line of MacKenzies stems from RJ1's peculiar nature, and JMW's own eccentricities, which dovetailed with those of her husband.

RJ1 himself best stated his nature by writing in his journal that he was "born a Baptist, married an Anglican, but had the heart and soul of a Mormon." Elsewhere therein he stated, "I am a fortunate man, for my beloved Jane Marie encourages me to take other women as my wives and to increase the number of offspring they give me."

In addition to JMW, RJ1 considered his "wives" to be: Ebony MacKenzie and Fancy MacKenzie, both Negro slaves and JMW's half-sisters; Patience MacKenzie, a Negro slave who was Ebony and Fancy's mother; Pearl May Barrows; Ruby Anne Barrows; and, Daisy Jane Cumberland. That is a total of seven.

The Barrows were twin daughters of Charles A. Barrows, a plantation owner in the area, and his wife, Priscilla, who died in childbirth. When the girls were eleven, their father and step-mother died. They became wards of RJ1 and came to live with him and his family at Whitlands. According to his journals, RJ1 made them his "wives" on their sixteenth birthday, which was in 1845.

Daisy Jane Cumberland was the daughter of Claire Fort Cumberland, an unwed woman in a dire position, and a father unknown. Although Daisy Jane was white, RJ1 bought her from her mother when Daisy Jane was thirteen because, again according to his journal, she was a "beautiful and fiery lass who would be a joy to tame and a pleasure to bed." She became his wife in 1849, when she was fifteen.

Legally, those other women were not his wives since he was married to JMW until her death in 1897. Still, I searched for wedding certificates or marriage licenses without success.

Both RB1 and RJ1 were concerned about the political situation in the United States as both were ardent Unionists who feared the Union would spilt asunder. Driven by this concern, they sold their South Carolina plantations in 1850, migrated westward, and acquired substantial farming operations in what is now northwest Missouri and adjacent parts of Nebraska and Iowa.

Accompanying them on this journey, which RJ1 refers to in his journal as "The Great Migration," were: Elizabeth MacKenzie Merewether, RJ1's full sister who was a widow with four children; all the other living lineal descendents of RB1; and several slave families totaling twenty-two people. All the slaves, including the three who were RJ1's wives, were given their freedom before the trip began.

RB1 and RJ1 created a genealogical nightmare because they both gave all their male children the first name of Robert, together with a different middle name for each. To complicate the issue, when they arrived in Missouri, all last names were conformed as "MacKenzie" and Elizabeth Merewether's two sons were given the first name of Robert.

RJ1 fathered children by all his wives as follows: JMW, eight; Ebony, five; Fancy, four; Patience, two; Pearl May, seven; Ruby Anne, six; and, Daisy Jane, seven, for a total of thirty-nine, not including children who died during childhood. Of these, twenty-four were male. In addition, RB1 had three children by Mary Elizabeth, two of whom were male.

This means that during this period there were thirty men in the extended family with the name of Robert MacKenzie. The problem is compounded by subsequent generations continuing those names for their own sons as my ancestors did for me.

You can see the problem I had when you asked me for information concerning your ancestor Robert MacKenzie, for I must reply, which one?

Until you can determine your ancestor's middle name, or exact date of birth, or provide some other unique criteria for identification, I am afraid I cannot help you further.

Good luck in your search.

Sincerely,

Robert James MacKenzie VI




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The End
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Posted:  2003-07-03
Last Modified: 2003-07-03 / 12:00:00 am
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