Sins of the Daughters

She heard him not with her ears, but with her mind, when his fearsomely low voice said, "Katherine's daughter. I smell her in you. I knew of your mother. And now, I shall know of you."

She felt his bristly thighs rub the back of her thighs. He placed his heavy hand laid on her buttock and she felt a foreign flesh akin to a scaly black rat snake enter her. It plunged in without a care; deeper and with a repeated insistence. And Constance, in all of her wickedness, found a pleasure to it all. The tearing flesh, the submission, all within nature where the act belongs. The Dark Gentleman beastly wide gloved hands held her with such possession that she became a beast herself.

On and on it went as Constance started to slam back against him, grunting loudly in a frenzy of delight. Then, as suddenly as it started, the Dark Gentleman plunged his barbarous phallus deep inside her, where it stayed as he let out a ghastly howl that echoed throughout the woods as his stayed deep inside her. She could feel his hot seed filling her, seeping out between their joined parts to dribble upon the ground. And when he finally withdrew his punishing rod, and Constance's body fell flat against a floor of pebbles, he disappeared.

Her body felt a light as a porous stone. She felt as though she were floating; as though she was one with everything. Out of her body, floating through the cosmos, as a spirit leaving the it's bodily host. She watched the sun dart across the crux of the sky in an instant and when her head rolled to one side, she saw herself hovering above leafy dirt. She giggled until it became a giggling fit until a faraway cry of her name broke the charm. In an instant, she fell upon the ground and rolled down a slope coming to a stop where she laid covered with leaves, watching worms wriggle in the mulch.

Night had fallen in forest when the Reverend Talcott led the men who had headed his call to help him search for his daughter. With their torches, lanterns and long rifles in hand, the fifteen men fanned out as they advanced into the woods. Their jagged line of lights eerily moved through the woods as they followed the trail Grace knew Constance would follow to the sassafras tree by Bowmans Creek.

Reverend Talcott shouted his relentless call. "Constance! Constance!"

"Over here!" shouted one of the men.

Reverend Talcott and the others ran towards his call and stopped at the sight of Constance lying unconscious in the bramble.

"Constance," Reverend Talcott cried out before scooping her up into his arms.

The men escorted the good reverend out of the woods as he carried his daughter home.

"She has no wounds," Mr. Smith said, trying to console the reverend. "Should we fetch the doctor?"

Constance groaned and slowly opened her eyes. "Father?"

"Yes, sweet girl," replied the good reverend. "Shhh. She seems okay. She must've fallen and hit her head. We'll send for a doctor tomorrow."

"I'll pray she be in good health."

Grace watched as her father as he carried Constance into the house. She thanked the men gathered outside the front door for helping with the search before closing it for the night. Grace raced up the stairs to see her father gently placed his daughter on the bed. Her eyes were open. Her pupils were dark and wide as she stared at the ceiling. He turned to Grace and said, "Go fetch water and tend to your sister."

Grace did as she was told, returning with a bowl of fresh water and a rag.

He backed away from her bed and said, "I'll leave you to it."

He left the room, closing the door behind him. Grace sat Constance up to unbutton her dress and yank it down her body.

"Constance? Constance? Dearest sister, what happened to you?"

Her sister's head turned to meet her face with a queer look. With a wide, wild smile and replied, "It was glorious....more than you could ever imagine. I floated among the stars in the black void of night."

Grace began to wash her injured sister's scratched face and arms. When Grace removed Constance's petticoats, she gasped at the sight of blood spoiling her white linen undergarment and the blood smear between her inner thighs. Grace knew this wasn't menstrual blood. The two bled together. She hurriedly rinsed the blood stain from her sister's petticoat, scrubbing at it furiously with her fists, before draping it over an old chair. And when Grace returned to her sister, and hummed a lullaby as she wiped away the dried blood from between her sister's bruised thighs.

In a shaky voice, Grace whispered, "What happened, Constance? I fear your maidenhead is lost."

Constance's eyelids peacefully closed and with her last waking breath she uttered, "Such maddening beautiful glory."

Grace tossed the bloody water out the window to hide it from their father, before leaving the room to fill the bowl with clean water. She dressed her sister in her nightgown and tucked her between the covers where Constance fell asleep. She went downstairs where her father anxiously waited.

"How is she? Did she say what happened to her?"

"No father. She spoke but couldn't say what happened. I fear she slipped and hit her head. She's sleeping now."

Her father seemed relieved. Grace, on the other hand, was riddled by guilt and anxiety. What happened to Constance in the woods? Whatever it was, she would hold her sister's secret until the end of days.

The day of All Hallows Eve was gloomy with overcast skies grey from winter's mantle edging into New England. The good reverend readied his axe and brought it down upon the felled tree as he prepared kindling wood for winter. After what had befallen his eldest daughter, he decided to remain at home for the time being. Besides, there were chores to be done before the first winter's snow.

Grace sat on a kitchen chair quietly peeling apples for tarts. She looked up to see Constance kneading the tart dough of dark flour, pork lard and a drop of molasses, as she hummed a cheerful tune. Five days after her fall in the forest and the elder was back to her normal self. Actually, she was cheerier than before which confused the younger sister.

Grace said, "You seem strangely happy today."

"I am, dear sister. I am."

Grace was still concerned about Constance who never explained what happened to her in the forest. She accepted the fact that it would remain a mystery.

What Grace didn't know was that a craving had awakened within Constance since her encounter with the Dark Gentleman. She felt as though a hive of bees were buzzing in her loins. She wanted that feeling again, the feeling of being penetrated, invaded, and pummeled only to be filled with a stream of hot seed. It wasn't just some feverish phantom from ingesting mushrooms. She knew she'd been visited up by the supernatural. The Dark Gentleman had set upon her and ravished her like a beast. She more than liked it, she loved it and she bade him to visit once more -- tonight.

The brightness of the large All Hallows Eve moon, hanging in the eastern sky, lit the dale as the Talcott women prepared dinner. In the dining room, Grace placed a loaf of dark bread upon the dinner table. Reverend Talcott entered the room with papers in his hand and his reading glasses perched upon his nose. He took his place at the head of the table, reviewing a missive that he'd received as part of an inheritance grievance in which he was providing counsel.

Constance stirred the thickening creamed corn porridge before ladling a dollop of the porridge into a large bowl and after looking up to see that she was alone, she reached into her pocket for her kerchief and opened it to produce finely diced mushrooms which she poured into her father's bowl. She thoroughly stirred the tainted porridge until the mushrooms had completely disappeared. She then added more hot porridge into it and stirred it again before adding sizzling hot chunks of bacon. She ladled two more bowls of untainted porridge and topped them with bacon as well. Grace returned to the kitchen as Constance removed the bubbling kettle of porridge from the hearth to set upon a scarred wooden table.

"Here," Constance said, handing the sinister bowl of porridge to her unwitting sister. "Serve father his meal."

Grace accepted the bowl and Constance grabbed the other two to follow her to the dining room. Grace served her father as Constance set her bowl her and her sister's bowl down before the sisters took their respective seats.

They bowed their heads and clasped their hands as the reverend father said grace. Once finished, Reverend Talcott ripped off a large piece of brown bread which he dipped into his porridge. Constance watched as her father as ate as though he was famished. She spooned some of the porridge and ate as her sister did.

Talcott said, "I like the taste of this. What did you add?"

"Pine nut paste," replied Constance.

"Um, very good."

She accepted his praise with a pleasant smile and a nod. Grace remained silent, still surly from missing the harvest home. When they finished their meal, the women cleared the table as Reverend Talcott took to his study. He sat at his desk and was reading by the lantern light when his stomach began to churn. He stood and ran to open the front door where he spewed his meal upon the ground. He steadied himself at the door jamb and looked up at the moon that moved in a circular fashion.

Hearing their father's distress, the girls ran to his aid as he dizzily clutched the door with a vomit on his shirt.

"Grace help me get father upstairs. I feel he may have a sickness."

They propped their father's heavy body over their shoulders and maneuvered him up the creaking stairs. The women dumped him in a chair where Constance loosened his shirt.

Constance turned to her sister and said, "Fetch fresh water."

Grace scurried away as Constance stripped off her father's soiled shirt before unbuckling his knee britches and set them in a pile in the far corner. She removed his shoes and stockings and shirt as the poor man moaned. Grace returned with the water but hesitated at the door upon seeing her naked father.

"Here, wash father's clothes," Constance said, handing her sister the bundle of soiled clothes. "Tidy up downstairs and then go to bed. I don't want to risk you catching his sickness."

"Will father be all right?"

"We will know tomorrow morning. Keep him in your prayers."

Grace nodded before leaving the room. Constance shut the door behind her. The elder sister washed the vomit from the good reverend's mouth as his head nodded. Once clean, she moved his naked body to the bed. She could see why her mother was attracted to him: a handsome man with a nice physique, strong jawline, and twinkling blue eyes. She pulled the sheet and quilt over him before standing. It was only after he quieted, lying cozy in his bed, that Katherine unpinned her hair and took off her dress. She pulled her heavy black tresses over her shoulder to place over her breasts until only her pink nipples peeked through the curtain of black. She poured a cup of water before opening his bed covers to sit on the bed's edge. She softly called out, "Shepard. Shepard."

The reverend felt light-headed with the strangest fever he'd ever known. He felt as though he was spinning until he heard his wife call his name. He focused his thoughts and opened his eyes to see his beloved wife sitting beside him. His sweet, nurturing wife lowering a cup of cold water for him to drink. He slurped at cup and drank heartily before retching liquid into a waiting basin. As he laid back against his pillow, a cold damp cloth held by a gentle hand, blotted his fevered brow and wiped away his mess from his beard.

He heard her his sweet wife say, "Come. Take of more water. Water will help it pass."

He drank another cupful of water and laid back as the nausea abated. The haze which had misted his eyes began to fade and his eyes settled upon her breasts. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers, raven hair, and fine porcelain skin. He raised his head to her breast and pursed his lips around her pale rose pink bud of flesh and sucked as he had before.

Lost in her warmth, he said, "Katherine."

The loving voice he hadn't heard in ten years replied, "Yes, Shepard."

She laid down beside him and pulled the covers over her. He crawled on top of her, covering her neck with kisses saying, "the stars are in your hair". She reached down to his manhood into her hand where she squeezed and stroked his manhood until it was a staff of hard flesh. So warm and tender, he made love to his wife. When he finished with a gentle growl, he collapsed and fell into a deep slumber. Constance pushed him off of her and onto his back. She watched her father sleep for a while. Confident that his breathing was strong and steady, she quietly crept from his bed, pulled the covers back over him, and dressed. She blew out the candle before returning to her room where she changed into her nightgown, pinned up her hair and crawled into her bed causing Grace to stir.

"Is father going to be all right?"

"Yes. He will live."

The good reverend remained in bed another day as Grace nursed him to health. And when he felt well enough, he returned to his study to resume his counsel. Katherine was heavy on his mind and he wanted her out. He was deep in thought when he heard his daughter's footsteps stop at his door.

He heard Constance say, "Father, I must speak to you."

"Enter," he replied, taking off his spectacles and turning around in his chair to give her his full attention. "Yes?"

Constance entered his study and sighed. "Father, I've been writing to mother's father for the past two years now. He wants to meet me and Grace to come to England and has prepared passage for us. We leave in two days. He has arranged for an associate of his, Master William Shaw of Boston, to lodge us until we set sail in spring. Given what you've done to me, forcing yourself upon me-"

"I have never-"

"Two nights ago. You called me by my mother's name."

Dumbfounded, he said, "That was a dream."

"You told me I had 'stars in my hair.'"

He'd spoken those words to Katherine when they lay together. No one else but Katherine.

"You soiled me, father. You set upon me as I tended to your sickness. Grace and I shall leave this place and lead the lives of proper ladies free of rumors and scandals and abuse."

"And what makes you think I would agree upon such a thing?"

She lowered her head and feigned contriteness. "You would not want me go into the village and tell the village Council of your ill deed."

His brows drew together. He whispered, "You bewitched me."

"I served you the fruit of nature that brought out your true nature."

He recalled the odd tasting porridge which he digested before falling ill. Reverend Talcott's eyes were locked with his defiant daughter. In a low unforgiving voice, he said, "You have a black heart. An immoral, dirty, black heart."

Constance leaned towards her father. With face possessed by demonic forces, she said, "Yes, and I've fornicated with the Devil and prefer his tongue to yours."

He stood and slapped her across the face causing Constance to rear back, her hand to her cheek where her father's blow still stung.

Grace shyly entered the room. "What is this discourse between you two?"

He looked at Grace and said, "And you, I believed your innocence and your feigned naivete. You are equally as guilty in serving your sister's poison. You are as amoral as she. Go! Go to England, the both of you!"

"Father?! No!" Grace cried, though her laments were out love for Isaac. "I know not of what you speak. Please do not cast me out!"

Reverend Talcott uttered the same words his father had said to him, "Go. And never return!"

He returned to seat and committed his eyes to his legal papers. Grace rushed from the room.

Constance calmly said, "Find a godly woman and make her your wife, good reverend. You will never survive alone." And with that, she left the room.

The Talcott sisters left in a wagon their grandfather had arranged, packed with three trunks of their worldly possessions. Grace looked back at the stoic grey house, saddened that her father had not bade them farewell. He was in his study, in his own sour mood. And though the tiniest seed of hope that he'd reconcile with his daughters lingered within his heart, Reverend Talcott would never see his daughters again.

The footman opened the carriage door for the Bell family. It was ball season and the time for courtship had begun. The Talcott sisters, accompanied by their aunt, Lady Elizabeth Bell, and their grandfather, Lord Henry Bell approached the waiting carriage. The two chestnut mares whinnied and pawed at the ground spooked by some annoyance. Grace stopped besides the closest horse and whispered, "Don't be afraid. It's just a plume of feathers on your harness. There's nothing to fear. Please deliver us safely to the ball."

The horse calmed down and Grace entered the coach to slide onto the leather seats tufted with brass buttons. When everyone was settled with the coach, the footman took a seat beside the driver and with a snap of the reins, the carriage trundled down the way and turned onto the road heading towards Skipton Castle.

Constance pulled a fine lace glove over her now soft skinned fingers. Though her callouses were gone, and her coarse clothes replaced with resplendent silk gowns, hats, ribbons, and silk stockings, she still marveled at the delicate beauty of such fine accessories. She'd become accustomed to the immodest low bodices of European fashion; the whale bone corsets and the maneuvering of hoops; feeling as comfortable in her female trappings as any high born woman. She still had to nudge Grace with pointed elbow whenever the younger gawked at fantastical things like chandeliers, but Grace had learned to keep her mouth closed and became nonchalant amongst the glittering trappings of the regents' great halls.

As usual, Lord Bell had fallen asleep beside Lady Elizabeth who gazed at her niece's seated across from them. Her resemblance to Grace was uncanny while Constance resembled her mother in every way. She thought of her poor sister, Katherine. She loved that fool, married him, followed him to the colonies only to die in unspeakable barbarity. Elizabeth took a kerchief from her purse to dab a tear from the corner of her eyes. The girls looked at her bewildered.

"Don't mind me," said Elizabeth. "You look so lovely in your gowns. Pink really suits your color, Grace."

"Thank you," replied Grace. "I never had a pink dress before. And made out of silk. I can never thank you enough."

"And Constance, you're a vision in midnight blue."

Constance gave her a reserved nod.

When they arrived at the grand house, where the Duke of Devonshire was hosting the ball, the footman opened the door and assisted the family from their ride. Grace's frock rustled and curled ringlets bounced as she stepped out of the carriage. She glanced back to see Constance escort her decrepit grandfather, arm resting in arm, up the marble steps.

Mr. Bell said, "I am extremely happy you two are here and that you didn't ascribe to your father's fanaticism. You will meet many eligible men tonight. We will find you suitable matches."

Constance patted her grandfather's hand. "It is good to be home."

Lady Elizabeth said, "It's a miracle you two survived amongst such savagery. I am so very glad you wrote to us, Constance. You are a treasure."

They walked into the fine hall where Lady Elizabeth led the way to a room of gentlemen to leave her infirmed father on a chair at a card party with the other older gentlemen. They made their way to the grand ballroom where they were introduced. The colorful dresses and the rustle of expensive fabric, the chattering and heat from a thousand candles created a heady atmosphere for two simple country girls.