Sins of the Daughters

This gothic tale of dark eroticism is an entry in the 2022 Halloween contest. Votes are appreciated! Trigger warning; scenes of supernatural non-con.

Shadows from the twilight hour had overtaken the woods on this October eve as Grace ran towards home. Her brown curls bounced from her bonnet and the mushrooms she'd collected threatened to tumble from her hand basket as she sprinted towards the dale still out of view. Twigs scratched at her legs and snagged upon her mulberry dress as she dashed along the faint dirt trail bare foot and afraid. Every noise was a stalking wolf or Native man or the footsteps of the devil himself. Upon reaching the forest's edge unharmed, she ceased her running. She stood there for a few seconds to lean against a birch tree as she huffed and puffed to catch her breath. Calmed by the orange glow from the distant kitchen window her father's drab grey two story wooden house, Grace walked the remainder of the way home, trekking across the dewy grass as she's done for years. She passed the closed barn and empty pigsty, and upon reaching the front door, she stopped to adjust her bonnet and bodice before entering the safety of her family's home.

Grace's older sister, Constance was at the hearth, stirring a thick rabbit stew in the kettle hanging above low orange flames. With her fair skin, dark blue eyes, and hair as black as night, Grace found her to be reminiscent of a crow. Constance's fondness for dressing in black, her inquisitive nature and keen mind leant to her raven-like persona. The elder sister looked up and gazed at Grace with imperious eyes as the younger sister entered the kitchen.

Grace set her basket upon a kitchen table and said, "I don't want to go into the woods alone anymore. It frightens me."

Constance pulled back the cloth to reveal her sister's harvest and frowned. "Grace, you're going to be the death of us all. What did I tell you about mushrooms?"

Grace hung her head in shame and murmured, "I forgot. That's why I picked them all."

Constance plucked a bunch of mushrooms from the basket and said, "The brown capped ones like these are the good ones. The ones with the wide white caps are poisonous. And these little ones, the ones in a cluster, they'll leave you wobbly. I watched a stag eat them once and it staggered around like a drunk man before collapsing in the brush. He was gone the next morning. I find that humorous, don't you?"

Constance threw the flat white mushrooms in the rubbish pail and the brown ones in a bowl to rinse. But to Grace's consternation, Constance sprinkled a little salt over the drunk man mushrooms before wrapping them in waxed parchment to dry. She pressed them under a book as their mother had done when drying flowers and herbs.

The younger sister asked, "What are you going to do with those?"

Constance cheerily replied, "They can be used as medicine. Mother was right. Everything you need can be found in the forest."

In a rushed whisper, Grace replied, "You shouldn't speak of her."

Constance began to rinse the edible mushrooms and glibly answered, "Father is in the village. I may speak as I please."

"Constance, hold your tongue," Grace replied, knowing God hears her every word.

Constance rolled her eyes. "Why? Because we should be obedient women?"

Grace nodded. Constance stopped her chore to give Grace her entire attention. Grace took a step back as Constance approached saying, "We are women. We bring forth life. We have powers. Why should we listen to men? They are hardly our equals."

"Why do you say such things?"

Constance leaned into Grace's face and menaced her with stormy eyes. "You speak to beasts and they obey you. That is not the natural order of man. It is of preternatural power."

Grace felt the bile rise to her throat. She backed away from her sister but Constance stepped forward once more. The younger Talcott turned on her heal and bolted from the kitchen and up the narrow stairs to second floor. She raced into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her to flounce onto her bed she shared with her sister. She grabbed her mother's Bible from a bedside table, and rocked back and forth with her eyes tightly closed. Her heart was racing as the chattering of a hundred night creatures filled her head. When Grace opened her eyes, she yelped at the sight of Constance standing before her, glaring down at her in disgust.

Grace cried, "Why do you torment me so?"

She cruelly said, "Our mother was a witch."

"No, she wasn't!" Grace wailed before sobbing. "She was found innocent! She didn't fly! She drowned!"

"She was murdered by fearful men. She was a witch and so are we. That is our nature. Accept it. Now wash your feet and put on your stockings and shoes. Father will be home soon."

Constance left her sister to return downstairs and stir the stew while humming a bawdy sailor tune.

Reverend Shepard Talcott's dappled grey mare ambled up the traveler's road before instinctively turning off the road at old Goodwife Billingsley's house and onto the wheel rutted dirt trail that led to the Talcott house. The clean shaven thirty nine year old Harvard educated man hummed an old sailor's tune as he approached his house. His wheat colored hair hung low at his collar where it curled at the end. He had a sturdy frame and was known for his long strides of a confident man. Upon securing his horse in a barn stall, he removed his saddle from the mare before retrieving a packet of papers from the saddle bag and left the barn, latching it shut before heading to his house. He unlatched the front door and entered the warmth of his home and was met with the smell of a savory stew. The good reverend set his packet upon a side table and hung his hat on a peg before heading into the kitchen.

His daughters turned to him and in unison, greeted him with a respectful, "Good eve, father."

"Good eve."

He sighed as he watched Grace set the table and Constance dish the stew into a tureen. His daughters can cook and sew, read and write, and hold pleasant conversations. They were too pretty not to be married though Constance's beauty is a dark one. She was so much like her mother, Katherine. Too much.

At the ages of eighteen and nineteen, both of his daughters embodied some of Katherine's traits. Constance had a sharp wit and fondness for adventure while Grace was meek and kind. He feared they would never marry but what did he expect? Whispers of the family's scandal had followed them to Chapelgate. No good Christian man will soil their family name by marrying a Talcott woman. Some folks in this region are still suspicious of his daughters' natures and, being a good Christian man himself, he really couldn't blame them. The accusations that doomed his wife ten years ago lingered in parts of New England. Katherine's blue eyed, black haired beauty sparked the first damning rumor; she was Black Irish. He was her advocate at her trial and told the court that she was from the Bell family, a commerce family of means from Northumberland. Then evidence was given that she was responsible for the death of two infants in the village after a witness spied her singing 'a curse' while picking forest herbs. The reverend had argued it was an innocent song in a language the witness didn't understand. He argued that Katherine was fond of plant life, ever curious about nature. And then the most damning evidence, a black faced cross fox with fiery orange eyes that skulked around their home. Everyone had seen the creature at Katherine's heels at one time or another. The reverend couldn't keep her from it. Katherine loved that beast; talking to it when it came to beg for scraps she threw to the pigs. After she died, the good reverend searched the woods for that fox to kill the cursed beast but it disappeared, never to be seen again.

As he was a lawyer, he tried to save Katherine through his knowledge of English and Biblical law, but the Council denounced him, saying he was bewitched by his wife and couldn't give unbiased accounts. As the Council wrote, 'For what greater prize can a Witch obtain but to insnare a Man of God.' Katherine was sentenced to trial by water. Within a month after the young reverend witnessed his wife's death, he and his two daughters moved hundreds of miles away from Massachusetts Bay, but the whispers of the scandal followed. Fortunately, the village folk of Chapelgate had accepted him as a pious man who had fallen prey to insidious wiles and believed his daughters to be virtuous. There's hope they can find decent men with which to make a home. Reverend Talcott considered returning to England to find suitable husbands for his daughters. He had a wealthy grandfather though they were estranged since he left England for the colonies in the New World. And Katherine's family were moneyed and titled. They could be of aid in making a match. But no. He will remain in this land. Afterall, he is a man of conviction and had faith that God will see them through. He hated when his thoughts strayed to Katherine. His beloved, Katherine.

"Did you have a blessed day?" he asked washing his hands in a wash basin.

Constance set the tureen on the table and cheerfully replied, "Yes. Grace found your favorite mushrooms and I put them in the stew."

He smiled. They were good housekeepers with hardly a complaint. He dried his hands as Grace set a loaf of dark rye bread on the table and Constance dished up the stew into a bowl. The reverend sat at the head of the table where Constance served him first. Grace took her seat and Constance served her sister before filling her bowl and sitting at her father's right hand. They bowed their heads as the good minister said grace. For a period in time they ate in silence until it was broken by Grace's polite little voice.

Grace said, "Father, tell us about England."

"It's an irredeemable place."

Grace sighed and said, "Still, I'd like to visit there someday and eat iced cakes and see all the ladies in their fine silk gowns, and golden carriages pulled by matched horses prancing down cobblestone lanes."

Constance said, "Perhaps mother's father can send for us. Surely he won't visit the sins of the father upon his grandchildren."

Anger rose in Shepard's heart. "A pursuit of righteous living is not a sin."

Constance said, "All I am saying is that perhaps Mr. Bell is eager to meet the granddaughters that he's never met."

The good reverend's fist slammed down upon the table. "You will speak of this no more! Neither of you!"

The girls hung their heads and though Grace cowered from their father's raised voice, Constance exuded a righteous dignity.

Reverend Talcott threw his napkin upon the dinner table in disgust as his surly voice boomed forth. "We are severed from your mother's family! There will be no return to England! Your mother was wrong to fill your heads with tales of merriment! This is our home! You were born here and it here is where you will stay. We are building a new society, a Godly society, a shining beacon in the wilderness in a world full of sin! No more prattle about England! Do you hear me?"

His daughters replied, "Yes, father."

He quickly spooned stew in his mouth before ripping a piece of bread from the loaf. There would be no further conversation during this nightly meal.

When the reverend finished, he wiped his mouth and said, "Now I leave you two. Share a Bible passage when you retire."

He rose from his chair and left, grabbing his packet of papers before retiring to his counsel room. The two cleaned and washed the dinner dishes before retiring upstairs. They stripped off their clothing and washed themselves with damp cloths dipped in a basin of clean tepid water.

"Sing me that song of yours," Grace whispered with her lisped voice.

Constance stroked the cloth between her breasts and quietly sang, "One day a ship moored in Chesapeake Bay will spirit us to Lon-don. Where Lords beg the hand of a fair headed woman in the merry old halls of London."

Grace dreamily sang, "Parasols and bonnets, buttons and bows, kick up my feet in a raucous row and the prettiest woman will meet her beau at the queen's court in England."

They dressed in their long white cotton nightgowns and sat on the bed, Grace sitting with her back to Constance for her sister to braid her hair. She reached for the Bible and opened the book to the page bookmarked with a pressed wildflower she collected as a child on one of her mother's forest walks and began to read as Constance proceeded to braid her hair.

With a soft voice, Grace read aloud, "Genesis 2:24, 'Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.' What does that mean, 'become of on flesh?' Is that really happens when a man lies with a woman?"

"Why is it that every time you choose a passage to read, they are of fornication?"

Grace blushed and closed the book. "Don't say that word so loud."

Constance finished her sister's braid and coiled it before shoving it beneath her sister's night cap before quickly braiding her own. With her nightcap on, the two slid off the bed to kneel beside it and clasped their hands tightly as Grace prayed for deliverance from the terrors of the night. Constance murmured nary a word. Her eyes remained respectively closed but she ruminated over her own spiritual contemplation. When Grace finished, they crawled into the bed and settled into a mattress made of cotton and clothes scraps before covering themselves with quilts. Constance blew out the candles before turning to Grace for warmth. So close were they that their intertwined breaths lingered on their noses and the cold bed began to warm from their shared body heat.

In a comforting tone, Constance quietly said, "I know you're curious about what occurs between a man and a woman. You've seen the bull mate with the cow. The pigs. The dogs in the village. It's the same with a man and a woman. The man puts his flesh inside you to fulfill God's will of procreation."

Grace whispered, "But there must be more to it than rutting around like animals."

"Not really. You either enjoy it or not."

Grace nodded before whispering, "I'd rather enjoy it than not."

Grace tugged up her nightgown before taking her sister's cold hand to place between her warm thighs. Grace opened her legs ever so slightly, just enough for Constance to move her hand upward to rest her fingers between the wet warmth of mysterious folds. She was moist and silky slick. The younger sister closed her eyes and delighted at the throb from the sensitive kernel of flesh pressed and rubbed by Constance's long finger.

Between her gasps, Grace whispered, "How did you come to know of this.... joy? Did mother tell you of it?"

"No. She was a goodly woman who would never share such knowledge, if she knew of it at all. Mine tingles when I think of the man I want to marry. Tall, dark, roguish in his ways. And then one day, many years ago, I rubbed my little button of pleasure until this heavenly feeling of extasy burst from my loins. Does that happen to you?"

The two became still when they heard their father's footsteps coming up the creaking stairs. They held their breaths as their father passed their room and began to breathe once more when they heard his bedroom door shut. Grace replied, "Yes. Like a rushing tide."

Constance rubbed her finger back and forth against Grace's tender flesh. Tiny gasps of surprise escaped her lips as she writhed from their forbidden act.

Constance whispered, "When your true love presents himself, it will be magical. He will take you into his arms."

Grace nodded. Her breath had quickened and perspiration sprouted on her brow.

"And he will proclaim that you are his love; you are his sun and moon and stars."

"Ohhhhh," Grace moaned.

"Shhhhh," Constance implored, rubbing her harder. "Shhhh lest father hear you."

Grace thighs clenched her sister's hand. Constance clamped her free hand over her sister's mouth as Grace shuddered in her ecstatic state. Their bed squeaked at the joints from Grace's trembling legs that kicked before stiffening. Constance placed her stifling lips upon Grace's to muffle her uncontrollable squeals. It was only after Grace's body ceased it's moving and her body relaxed into the mattress did Constance remove her lips from the lips of her sister's flushed face.

With her drowsy hazel eyes, Grace murmured against her sister's neck, "I love you, Constance"

Hugging her drained sister close Constance kissed her dewy brow. "I love you too. And I promise to care for you the rest of my days."

With that, the sisters fell into a restful sleep.

A brisk wind rustled fallen autumn leaves. Winter was on its way. The Talcott sisters busily prepared for the cold months; pickling eggs, smoking fish and meats, drying beans and storing squash and maize to get them through days in which they'd be snow bound. Grace was dressed in her usual mulberry dress and white shirt as collected fallen chestnuts at the forest's edge in the back of the dale. She will blanch then roast the nuts and sell them at the church market during the harvest home festival. She would stand beside sister where Constance will sell her popular apple berry pies. Grace set down her basket to wipe her brow and smiled at the prospect of socializing with others her age. To eat and mingle, drink warm cider and perhaps a sip of ale under a full moon. She couldn't think of a more magical night.

Grace froze from the sound of rustling bushes. She remained still, eagerly waiting for something to emerge. A doe's head peeked out from amongst the brush and it lowed its head to Grace before timidly approaching in tentative steps. When it was within reach, Grace extended her hand to the shy creature. The doe gently lowered her head to rest in Grace's hand. She stroked the young doe's head. Then she saw the bloody gouge on its hind quarter.

Grace examined the wound saying, "You're injured. It isn't too bad. I'll clean it out and apply a poultice and you'll be good as new."

The doe rubbed its head upon her breast. She smiled down upon it, taken in by its great brown eyes. The sound faraway echoes of snapping branches coming from the forest startled Grace. She knew the sound of men's boots, as opposed that of a four leg creature, trampling twigs covering the forest's floor. It's probably the hunter come to finish his kill. She looked into the forest. Though she saw no one approach, the slow stalking footsteps were heading her way.

She looked into the doe's eyes and said, "Quickly, come with me."

Grace retrieved her basket and scampered to the barn with the doe trailing behind her. She beckoned it with her hand into the barn where it knelt upon a loose bed of hay. She looked back at the woods and with no one in sight, she crossed the low grass to the well where she drew a bucket of water before returning to the barn. She latched the door behind her and set the water bucket beside the doe before walking over to a small shelf where Constance had kept antiseptic balms for the farm animals. She pulled the small jar of balm made pine sap, marigold and lard before returning to the wounded deer. She stroked the young doe's head before dipping her skirt's hem into the water to clean the deer's wound.

"It's not so bad," said Grace, cleaning the singed abrasion. "You're fortunate the huntsman is not a very good shot."

When the shallow wound was clean when she applied a bit of the balm, humming a tune to comfort her charge. The deer suddenly swung its head towards the woods. Grace stopped humming and after putting the lid back onto the jar, she leaned over to look through a knot hole in wooden slates to see Isaac Keyes emerge from the woods. The young man held his musket in both hands as scanned the ground before suddenly looking up and straight at the barn. Grace reared away from the boards as though he'd seen her. She looked at the doe before hastily pushing hay up and around it's legs.