By Conor Grayson
~*~
~*~
At Gray Dove Manor, dawn comes to the far shore first. Oak and marsh, backlit by vanguard day. The yard was still a foggy blue when Rose’s alarm went off. Six am. She lay in bed for a few moments, not letting herself think about the day to come yet. The blankets ensconced her in impossible warmth; surely no one had ever been as comfortable as she was now. Here was dimness and safety. Beyond lay a brutal, sunlit Sunday. It was a cruel choice to make, but she knew the consequences of remaining in bed would be worse than what was already to come. Nor did she relish facing a 7am spanking without the insulation of having woken up a little. So with titanic will she managed to escape her bed, shivering a bit as she padded down the hall to the shower. The rest of the kids would still be asleep, and she had the bathroom to herself. It was a rare treat; even in this big house, five kids and a full household tended to mean bathrooms were contested real estate. Rose indulged herself, remaining in the shower for more than ten minutes, letting the hot water soothe and scald her tender skin.
The upstairs bathroom had always been drafty, and Rose took a deep and private pleasure in the cool outside air slipping in while she showered. It teased at the margins of her steamy sanctuary. If only she could stay here forever, a princess in a castle, besieged but safe, knowing a hero would ride to her rescue just in time.
But too soon, she had turned off the water, and when she returned to her room, wrapped in two towels, a fresh punishment outfit had been laid out on her bed. Rose was sure her governess had done this herself, which engendered a series of complicated feelings in the girl. Her first instinct was to roll her eyes. But she also was cognizant of the fact that Dorothea had likely stayed up late laundering the outfit. And that the effort, appreciated or not, was in service to her. And Rose felt a pang at that. She toweled off and slipped the outfit on. At first she pulled the white underwear up all the way, thinking she would adjust them at the last second. But she was worried about forgetting, and so the next moment she reached back and slipped them down past her bottom. “And so it begins,” she thought, and started to brush her hair.
At 6:58 she climbed the stairs to Dorothea’s door and knocked reluctantly. After a moment, the door opened, revealing Dorothea in a white nightgown. The nightgown was silk, of fine quality though faded with age, and it sat loose on the woman’s contours. “Thank you for being on time,” she said, standing aside so that Rose could enter her quarters. The governess’ rooms consisted of a small sitting room, which they were in now, as well as a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette. There was also a balcony off the bedroom that overlooked the river, so that, if she was not already working, Dorothea could sit out and watch the sunrise as she drank her coffee.
The governess took a seat on the couch, taking Rose’s hands and pulling her close. “We don’t need these, it’s just us now,” she said as she slid the girl’s panties down and off. Then she ran her hands affectionately up the backs of Rose’s legs, looking directly in her eyes as her hands cupped the younger girl’s bottom. She kneaded the bottom gently as she spoke, her voice kind. Rose blushed. Dorothea’s hands were warm, and they felt good against her sore skin. But it was also embarrassing to be touched this intimately by her governess.
“Young lady, this is how today is going to go. First, I am going to give this bottom a good spanking with my hand. Then I am going to give this bottom a good spanking with my hairbrush.” Dorothea’s voice was gentle, and she held eye contact with the girl as she spoke. “Then you are going to be put to work again. Your sister could use some help.” At this, Rose’s heart lifted, just for a moment. This turn of phrase, “your sister could use some help,” usually meant Dorothea was talking about Triss. It was a diplomatic way of saying “your sister is getting herself into trouble, please help her out of it.” Whatever mischief the youngest Hawthorne was involved in, her company was infinitely better than whatever activity her governess could set her to. But in the next moment, Rose’s hopes were dashed. “Christina will be waiting for you downstairs. Mind you, you’ll go straight to her when we’re through.” Rose almost stomped. Anything but Christina, she thought. She managed to hold back the stomp, but her face took on a stormy look.
Dorothea, without a word, removed her hands from Rose’s backside and, with a gentle tug on her arm, signaled to Rose to assume the position. The girl did so. Both governess and charge were aware that Dorothea was getting on with it to avoid giving Rose any leeway to make things worse for herself.
Rose felt Dorothea’s hand resting on her behind. “Now, tell me everything that’s going to happen.” Rose took a deep breath. She knew Dorothea wasn’t looking for the abbreviated version.
“You’re going to spank this…er, my bottom with your hand. Then you’re, uh…ugh, you’re gonna spank my bottom with your hairbrush. Then I’m going to go help Christina.”
“Hmmm,” Dorothea intoned, rubbing the bare target under her hand. “I suppose that will do. I’m not wild about that defiant tone you’ve got, though. Let’s see if we can work on that.” Then she raised her arm and began to spank the girl briskly. Her hand bounced along the poor bruised fruit of Rose’s bottom. What expanses of her skin were still pale soon renewed the mottled maroon color her backside had worn the previous day. Despite herself, Rose began to cry. She was so sore the hand spanking felt unbearable immediately. It was like the sting had slipped beneath her skin and taken root in the tangle of fat and muscle there, a glowing coal that seared her from every angle. She was actually kicking like a little kid when she felt the stinging slaps give way to the stationary coolness of a cherrywood hairbrush.
“No, please…” was all she could say, through her tears. But even as she said it, and though her pleading was sincere, she knew she would not fight. Somewhere in the middle of her ordeal last night, the main event that was her “spanking to tears,” she had been broken. Not broken in the sense that she was damaged at all. But something inside her shifted, had acquiesced perhaps irreparably. She was like a strand of kelp, contentedly enduring her tidal battering, so that she might grow again into the family’s grace. And when the hairbrush came down on her tender skin, she merely sobbed, and continued to sob long after the polished wood had done its work. For five full minutes after the ordeal, Rose remained at half-mast across her governess’s thighs, crying steadily.
Then she was up, dressed again (such that it was), hugged soundly, and drummed out of her governess’ quarters with the inevitable swat. Down the two sets of stairs she went, to find Christina dressed smartly in snug dungarees and a matching denim shirt, the outfit clean but faded from use. A blue gingham headscarf tied back her long blonde hair, and made her look somewhat older than she was. On her lapel was pinned, as it always was when she wore this outfit, an old medal Christina had won for growing the state’s best tomato, way back when she was 13. Though that was a full six years ago, the pin was polished like new. For all that Rose thought Christina a true prig at times, there was no doubt some of her self-regard had been earned. Christina was one of the finest riders in the county, a trophy-winning tennis player, and a stellar student, and next fall she was due to start at Barnard. (Christina had elected to take a year off between high school and college, a decision that surprised everyone, and had yet to be fully explained.) She had also, since an adolescent fascination with agriculture had emerged sui generis, become a skilled and dedicated, year-round gardener. And her eagerness had become impatience as Rose plodded down the stairs towards her. Rose knew Christina had spanking privileges in this situation, and that she would use them. Yet she couldn’t suppress the sibling impulse to annoy her sister with heavy, slow steps on the stairs. It was then that Christina removed the large spoon she had in her back pocket.
“Rose, sweetie, are you going to be my good helper today, or do I need to give you a little encouragement?” Christina’s voice was high and musical, like she was addressing a child. Rose hated it. But she merely quickened her steps so that she came to a stop in front of Christina. Rose swallowed a dozen wrong answers and said, “I’m going to help you, Christina. Thank you…uh, thank you for letting me help, I guess.”
Christina smirked. “You guess?”
“No, I know. I want to be helpful.”
“Well okay sweetie, I appreciate that. Let’s try to find you a coat first. Hopefully we have one that won’t cover that bottom up too much. Come on then.” And Christina took Rose’s arm, quite unnecessarily Rose thought, and led her to the closet by the back door, which housed a generation of assorted coats, hats, scarves, and shoes, plus umbrellas, galoshes, and much else. It was the sort of closet that is often found next to a back door in a house of many children, in which is piled the fuzzy, communal accretions of an active family. Eventually, after some digging, Christina came out with one of their father’s old coats, a medium flannel number. “Try this on, and then turn so I can see what we’re working with.” Rose did so, reluctantly turning her back so Christina could assess how much of her backside she would be presenting to upstate New York. About half of it, it turned out, which her sister reluctantly accepted. They both pulled on socks and boots, and then, reaching under the jacket for a friendly squeeze, Christina ordered her charge to march. Together, they made their way to the gardens.
The gardens were a large rectangular stretch at the corner of the property, up a little hill and overlooking the river. A couple dozen rows of seedbeds were augmented by a series of stakes and twine for tomato plants, gourds, and wild grapes–or whatever else Christina was growing at the moment. There was also, separately, a complicated set of stone steps, in which various soil pits had been carved out, as well as large stone pots, as further space for the gardener’s work. The steps, along with a few faded stone angels that stood here, predated the family’s move-in, and the house itself. The family had always found something magical about this structure. Growing up, the kids had made the steps and the statues central to their games of pretend. And even the adults saw something vaguely mystical in those noseless cherubim faces. Rounding up the children in the twilight, Dorothea would startle suddenly, imagining one of the gnomic figures, half-clothed in lichen, had suddenly turned toward her. But of course, looking again, they never did. The girls were now too old to play pretend, but they often came out here to sit still, in the evenings when it wasn’t too buggy, and look out at the water. No stone figures had yet come alive to sit next to them. But even colonized now by Christina’s efforts, the stone steps and old foundation remained the closest thing the Hawthornes had to a holy place.
The sun was fully up as Rose and Christina arrived at the garden. A slight breeze came off the water, reminding Rose of her undressed lower half. But with the sun and her father’s jacket, she was warm enough. Christina had explained on their walk over that today they would be planting garlic, between the first frost and the end of the month, as well as weeding and deadheading and raking out the flower beds. It was a full morning of work at minimum, and Rose was soon set to battle with the weeds. At first, she had kneeled down among the beds, enjoying the way the earth smelled. But Christina had promptly hauled her to her feet, pointing to the imprint of her knees where she’d just been. Bending Rose forward, out came the spoon, stinging her bare bottom a dozen times. “Bend, don’t kneel, when you weed. I expect to see this bottom in the air, and every time I don’t you’ll be spanked for real. I don’t care how sore your fanny is, Rose. Do you understand?” Her bottom already so sore that the spoon swats nearly drew tears, Rose just nodded. “Answer me proper, little girl,” Christina demanded, stinging her again, right on her left sit spot.
“Yes, Christina, I’ll do it properly! I promise!” After a few final swats, Christina relinquished her, and true to her word, Rose remained bent over as she began to weed the garden, trying hard to get everything and move quickly enough. In her position her bottom peeked out from under the flannel, looking very white in the morning sun. In a different part of the garden, Christina was carefully digging shallow holes for the garlic, which she had brought out in a small cloth sack. Having dug about a dozen little pockets in the soil, she began separating the cloves, and carefully thumbing each one stem down into the hole. However, between tasks she would walk over to Rose, inevitably ordering her to move faster, or pointing to some stubborn limb of crabgrass she’d missed. The spoon remained in Christina’s back pocket during these remonstrances, but she was liberal in swatting her helper’s presented bare bottom every time a fault was mentioned. Once, Rose having bypassed an entire cluster of dandelions, Christina took the girl by the arm and marched her over to the steps. “Little girls who can’t focus on their tasks are given some motivation, aren’t they, young lady?” Christina pulled Rose over her knee, pushing the panties to her knees and the jacket high up her back. “And that motivation is delivered right on their bottoms, isn’t it, Rose?”
“Yes Christina!” She squealed as Christina began spanking her in earnest, the first proper trip over Christina’s knee she had had in a while. Christina spanked the way she rode a horse, grew a tomato, or studied for finals: very well and very thoroughly. A sailboat, tacking upstream offshore, got an eyeful, though the boat’s passengers could only vaguely make out what was happening onshore. But the gist was obvious: a young lady was getting a very good spanking. The sailors, a young couple, chuckled as they coasted by. Back onshore, every inch of Rose’s bottom, her thighs, and even almost down to her kneecaps were now a stinging scarlet. Christina paused for a moment, listening to Rose sob. We really don’t run out of tears, do we?, she thought to herself, reflecting on just how much weeping her sister had done that weekend. But what she said was something different. First she pulled the girl’s panties the rest of the way down and off her legs. Then, laying one hand gently on the glowing curve of her sister’s bottom, she gently directed Rose to spread her legs. “I know it’s embarrassing sweetie, and I know you’re scared, but I want to finish this spanking properly, so we can make sure you learn your lesson, and be the best helper you can be for me today. So I need you to spread those legs nice and wide. No, wider. Good. That’s my good girl. We’re almost done.”
Rose had opened her thighs as wide as they could go, as she lay over Christina’s lap. This spread her intimate parts wide open in the sunshine, revealing tender white flesh on her thighs and bottom, areas Christina’s hand had not yet touched. But the next moment that changed, as the small, strong palm began to tactically target this nerve-rich territory. Rose howled. Forgetting that she was outside, forgetting the neighbors a half-mile down the road, forgetting even the public waterway not fifty feet away: all she could think of was the pain, as Christina finished her spanking with a merciless effectiveness. Afterwards she lay heaving and gasping over her sister’s knees, not daring to close her legs without being told. And Christina, understanding this, did not immediately give permission, but gently whispered to her how brave she had been, while keeping her spread wide in the humiliating position for two minutes more. Christina knew, from experience, and from the way bruises had begun to colonize more and more of her sister’s lower half, that they were approaching the limits of compassionate physical punishment for Rose. Much of the remainder of the day’s corrections would be more mental than physical. Though she knew her sister did not feel like it, Rose was close to summiting the weekend’s trials.
When Rose was ready, after a good five minutes, she was brought back to her feet. “I think we’re going to keep these off for a while,” Christina said, holding up her sister’s white panties, before stuffing them into the back pocket of her jeans not occupied by the spoon. Despite the serious spanking she had just received, Rose protested. “You can’t! No! We’re outside, Christina,” leaning into the word, “someone might see!”
“Sweetie, you just spent a good long time over my knee with your legs spread. I think if anyone is around, there isn’t a whole lot left for them to see.” At this, Rose stomped her foot once, but then hung her head. Christina saw her shoulders lift and then fall, and when the girl looked up again, the anger had gone from her face. Instead, there was just a sheepish, embarrassed look. “That’s my good girl. Let’s get back to work.” Christina gave Rose a quick peck on the forehead, and they went back to work. Rose was intensely self-conscious at first, especially because the work she was doing made keeping the jacket below her hips largely impossible. She was also shivering, both from the chill breeze and the blood that had pooled in her butt, leaving the rest of her cold. But working steadily under Christina’s keen eye, she soon grew warm, and even forgot that she was showing so much. It actually felt good, in some way, being uncovered in this outside work. After the garlic had been planted, Christina raked out the beds and fussed with the gourds and pumpkins that were coming in, while Christina was set to harvesting the winter squash and then trimming back the vines, deadheading various flowers, and carefully collecting the last of the rosemary, thyme, and fennel, so that the anise scent lingered on her fingertips the rest of the day. She understood why Christina liked it out here. The Hudson flowed lazily beside them as the two women labored at a steady pace. The air smelled of earth and fresh water, and woodsmoke from somewhere they couldn’t see. Rose had just finished folding a last stem of rosemary into a strip of tissue when Christina came and told her that was it. “That’s all for the garden work. You were a very good helper to me, sweetie.”
Rose blushed at the sincerity in Christina’s voice, despite the parental tone in it. In ordinary circumstances, Rose would have rolled her eyes and said something belligerent back. She hated when her sister acted like this. But the day and a half of discipline had worn her down, effected her headspace. And so she merely said thank you back. “I actually really liked it. It’s…nice out here. Even if I’m…”
“Naked below the waist? Showing your bottom to the whole world?” Christina was smirking again.
“Christina!” Rose stomped again.
“Okay, fine. Yes, it is nice, right? It can be maddening some days, it’s such precise work. But other times it’s just really lovely, being part of the earth and all. And it’s really exciting when new things start sprouting. You’ll see with that garlic next spring.”
“You did that.”
“Yeah, well only because you weeded the spot first. And if you wanted, you could help me with them next year, when the sprouts show up. Garlic is pretty easy, but like, there’s still lots to do.”
“I’d like that, actually. Yeah.”
They looked at each other. Despite getting along well enough most of the time, Rose and her oldest sister hadn’t found a whole lot in common in their lives, and as such, Rose felt like she knew Christina less than her other siblings. Something stirred in her that she couldn’t describe, as the idea of spending some real time with Christina became more real. She was always so good at everything, it was hard to imagine a whole person behind all the accomplishments and the sternness and the being perfect. But there was a person there, all the same.
They started to walk back toward the house, Rose carrying the squash and herbs. There was a small shed next to the garden that held the gardening tools, so Christina’s hands were free as they went. Occasionally she rubbed her sister’s back through the flannel as they chatted. Alanah’s birthday was coming up, and there were rumors that their father would take them into the city for the day. The two siblings were planning the itinerary, though all they really managed to do by the time they reached the house was list off an impossibly long list of potential activities and destinations, no more than one or two of which would fit into the day.
As they reached the back porch, Dorothea came out and greeted them. “Was she a helpful girl, Christina?” the governess asked.
“Oh yes, she was a very good girl. I only had to spank her once for behavior.”
Rose did not care to be talked about this way, but there was nothing she could do. But it was Dorothea’s next sentence that startled her.
“Very well, Christina, I appreciate your help. And I see that she’s filthy. Why don’t you discipline her now, and then I’ll get her cleaned up in the side yard.”
Rose looked at Christina in a panic. Her skin was still red from her last spanking, and below the angry surface her muscles were badly bruised and terribly tender. She did not think she could endure another serious spanking. Christina saw the fear in her eyes, and her own countenance, whose default appearance was one of wintry beauty and not given to sympathy, softened. Dorothea had already quit the porch. Taking Rose by the hand, Christina led her up onto the porch and sat her down on a bench. She did not sit herself, however, but, brushing a strand of dark hair from the girl’s face, began to speak.
“I know, sweetie. You’re scared. I do need to give you a very stern spanking right now though. It’s a condition of securing your help, otherwise Dorothea was going to do it.” Rose was silent. “Sweetie, I know how sore you are. But I can’t skip this punishment just because you chose to act up and get a different spanking. That would be rewarding bad behavior, in a way. So this is what I propose.” And here, she sat down next to Rose and put her hand on one bare thigh.
“I need to give you a stern punishment, but it doesn’t have to be painful. So you have a choice. You can submit to a very embarrassing spanking right now, or you can resist me, and I’ll have no choice but to use my spoon on your bottom, good and long and hard. Do you understand me?”
Rose nodded. She thought she knew what Christina was getting at, but she desperately hoped she was wrong.
“You know what I mean, don’t you, Rose?”
Rose nodded. Of course she did. There was only one way in the Hawthorne household that was considered the most embarrassing way to be spanked.
“We’re going to do it out here, I think. I think that will be the most effective way to do it, without privacy. In fact, I’m going to go get Dorothea so she can watch. While I’m gone, I want you to think a bit about the proper way to ask me for it, because when I get back I’m going to expect you to do so. And you only get one chance to do it right.”
Rose nodded, numb. She barely heard Christina get up and disappear inside. Her head was swimming, and only refocused when she heard the french doors close, and looked up at Christina and her governess, both looking at her. She had not taken time to think up what to say now. But she didn’t have to. She knew the words that were expected. It was only a question of whether she could get them out.
“Okay sweetie,” Christine speaking to her softly. “Okay, it’s time to ask. Do a good job for us, okay?” Dorothea was looking into her eyes, but she was silent and her face was unreadable. Rose turned her gaze back to Christina, who looked at her with expectation, and perhaps a sense of hope.
“Christina, will you please teach me a lesson in humility by punish…will you please…will you please give me, uh, a lesson in humility by giving me, I mean…will you please give me a lesson in humility by punishing me with a very embarrassing spanking, like I am a little girl. Will you…um, can this spanking be on my bottom, my…naughty bottom, and be really humbling and, and it can hurt my bottom as much as you think I need, so that I can be reminded to be good?”
Christina smiled. Rose was taken aback by this reaction, but a moment later she realized that she had done a good job, and that Christina was relieved. Dorothea spoke up then, saying “what a good girl, to ask for her punishment like that, what a fine heart you have, Rose!” Christina had taken her by the shoulders, and pushed her down so that she was lying on her back. She let her hips be raised so that her underwear could be slid off, and then let Christina push her legs back over her head. Finally, her legs were pulled shoulder-length apart, and Dorothea stepped forward and held her in position at the thighs, pushing them back even a bit farther, so that Rose felt the thrum of her hamstrings. Then Christina began a patty cake gentle spanking, back and forth across the stretched cheeks of her bottom. It didn’t hurt, but it was intensely humiliating, this symbolic spanking. And her sister and her governess scolded her gently the whole time, commenting on what a naughty fanny she had, what an embarrassing position this was, but also how pretty her bottom was, how nicely her pale skin took color during a spanking, intimate praise that was somehow far harder to endure than the scolding. Rose wanted to hide her face, knew that she could not. For a full five minutes they spanked her like this, and spoke to her, and made no secret of the fact that they gazed at her bottom and privates up close in the full light of day.
~*~
After the spanking, Rose had furled herself into the embrace of her sister and governess. A breeze had begun, and it fussed with Rose’s hair, what was visible above the twined arms that held her, keeping her warm. Christina gently extricated herself and stepping back, confessed that she had made plans to ride again that afternoon, and that she had better get ready. “With Lionel?” Dorothea asked, raising an eyebrow.
Christina blushed. “Yes,” she said quietly. She looked as though she wanted to argue, but couldn’t find anything in the question with which to do so. So, kissing her sister once more on the forehead, Christina turned and swept into the house.
Dorothea had also let go, and was looking at the grass stains on Rose’s knees. There were dusty land masses where dirt had dried along her shins and thighs, and one wet leaf clung stubbornly to her calf. “Come along, Rose, it’s time to get you washed up. I won’t have you looking like a ditch digger.” Dorothea took Rose gently but firmly by the arm. But instead of going into the house, Rose was led off the porch and into the side yard
“Oh no, ma’am, can’t we do it inside?” Mr. Hawthorne, during a work trip to California, had been quite taken with an outdoor shower that one of his clients had installed outside their home. And while it was rather less practical in the more adversarial conditions of the Northeast, he had nevertheless insisted on having one installed at Grey Dove Manor. And this was where Rose realized she was being led. “Please ma’am, it will be cold out here, and…not private.”
“Nonsense, you’ll be plenty warm once we’re under the water. And you know no one can see us, it’s as private as an indoor shower. In fact, the only way anyone from the street will know what’s happening is if you give me cause to give you another spanking while we’re in there, is that what you intend?”
“No, ma’am.”They had reached the latticed porch that contained the shower. It consisted of a small anteroom with a bench, and then a shower enclosure broad enough for two, with another, smaller bench. The whole thing was made of fine stained cedar, and built in such a way that it did indeed hide the occupants from sight. But the bright October air still flowed unchecked into the quiet, shadowed space, as Dorothea let go of Rose’s arm and began to undress her. First the heavy jacket, forever carrying her father’s scent, which Dorothea hung on a hook. Then her tank top, pulled unceremoniously over her head. The angled sunlight fell in long gold bars across Rose’s white breasts and belly.
“Sit,” Dorothea commanded, and Rose did so. The wood was cold against her bottom. Dorothea bent to untie her boots, and Rose knew not to help or protest. She sat still, feeling the dull ache of the wood pushing up on her sit spots. Dorothea pulled her shoes off, then her socks. These were set neatly outside the enclosure. Then Rose’s governess did something unexpected. She stepped matter of factly out of her own sensible shoes. Then she bent and pulled off her socks, and began to undo her blouse. Rose was quiet. Once unbuttoned, Dorothea slipped out of it, and in a moment her long skirt was likewise unfastened and off. Underneath, Rose’s governess wore a thin, nearly sheer cotton slip, which stopped midway down her thighs. Rose gasped. She hadn’t seen her governess in a state of undress like this since they would bathe together when she was a small child.
“Come, let’s get you scrubbed, you look like one of Peter Pan’s boys.”
“You mean the Lost Boys?” Rose waited at the threshold while Dorothea turned on the water. She sounded still a little dazed, not taking her eyes off her scantily clad governess.
“Hmm, is that correct? Yes, I think you’re right.”
“I am.” At this, Dorothea looked back at her and smiled.
“Yes, Rose, dear, you’re right, and you’re right to say so. Too often people are going to get cross with you for insisting on what you know is true. But what do we say about people like that?”
Rose laughed. Dorothea had been using the phrase since she could remember. “Those people are like rabbit droppings: everywhere and of no use.”
“That’s right, sweetie. Okay, I think it’s warm enough. Let’s get you under.”
Rose let herself be ushered into the hot water. For the second time that day, she felt the sting of the gently scalding spray. She stood still, enjoying the feel of it. Then she turned and reached for the soap. But Dorothea, stepping in behind her, caught her hand. “No, you’ve lost that privilege. I will be washing you, Rose.”
“No! I mean, yes ma’am, it’s just…please.”
“Nonsense. Don’t forget you’re being punished, little girl. Consider this part of your punishment.” Dorothea took the soap herself and began to lather it up. Then she proceeded to wash Rose quite thoroughly, moving her around gently but matter of factly as needed. She scrubbed the stains from her knees, not being gentle, and spent some time scrubbing between her toes and across the soles of her feet, occasionally making Rose sit in the steam as she did so. The governess didn’t hesitate to reinforce her requests with a wet slap here and there, but she hardly needed to; Rose had largely resigned herself to the humiliation. Not that it was lessened by this stance: Dorothea washed between her legs with the same disinterested thoroughness that she used for her feet, and then did the same along and between the cheeks of her bottom. Somehow, the procedural nature of it made it all the worse.
But, as Rose was washed, she felt alongside her deep humiliation a certain intoxicated wonder. The water had quickly turned her governess’ slip largely transparent. Her heavy breasts, her bare shoulders, even, as she turned to fetch a brush or refresh the soap, the clear outline of her bottom, broad and dimpled and firm. All of this was unfussily on show for Rose. Being this close to her governess, to have her body co-mingle with the older woman’s,as Dorothea’s breasts brushed up against her bare shoulder, or their hips met as the older woman worked, it all felt strange. Though Rose had only a vague vocabulary for sex, she knew enough of her own body’s stirrings to know that this feeling wasn’t sexual, exactly. She didn’t know what it was: intimate. But more than that. Is this what it feels like to be an adult? She wondered, though that was silly. Being washed by your governess after two days of spankings seemed like the opposite of being an adult. But she also had a notion that perhaps, being an adult involved something about the world making less sense than it did before. Dorothea’s perfume smelled of sandalwood and ambergris, and even in the shower it persisted. The next day, Rose would still smell it faintly on her skin.
Rose, startled, realized that the water was off, as the refugee wind pushed through the slats, trying to reach her. It was midafternoon by now, and even with the sun at its height, the air was still cool. Shivering, Rose the next moment found herself embraced by the towel her governess wielded, and was ushered out of the shower and inside the house. Dorothea once again guided her with one strong hand gently but firmly on her bottom. Rose wasn’t sure where she was headed, but was relieved to find them returning to her room. Dorothea walked to the neatly made bed and drew back the covers. “My dear, you have had a difficult morning. Deservedly so, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of how you’ve comported yourself. I know you had an early morning, why don’t you take a nap.”
Rose felt a surge of relief, and not waiting to be told twice, hung up the towel and, still naked, crawled into the bed and let herself be tucked in. Dorothea kissed her gently on the forehead, adjusted the covers just so, and then walked out of the room. Rose was asleep before she reached the stairs.
~*~
It’s dark when Rose wakes. The room is cool, silent. She sits up. At the window, the curtains flutter, dancing in the moonlit dark, and Rose nearly jumps out of her skin. But the next moment she realizes it’s the wind; the window is open. She gets out of bed, surprised at first to find herself naked, and the next minute wincing as she pushes up from her bottom to standing. Yes, I’m being punished, she remembers. Oh right. The wind that has traversed her bedroom carries a scent with it: woodsmoke. The autumnal pepper-oak spice is her favorite smell, and it brings her to the window. Still groggy with sleep, she is initially surprised by what she sees. The yard is on fire.
But no, not the yard, just the fire pit. And she hears laughter coming up from the yard, her sisters’ laughter. Rose turns, looks around for her punishment outfit. But she can’t find it. Dorothea must not have brought me one, she thinks. Unsure what the protocol is, she slips on a loose dress and, after a moment, adds some second-hand stockings. Then she pads out of her room and down the stairs. The house is still. She slips on a clean pair of shoes and walks through the house to the back door, meeting no one. Then she is out through the French doors onto the porch, the brisk smoky air enveloping her. On the lawn she sees her sisters, dark forms cross-legged around a fire. Their fire pit is large, the largest in the neighborhood, their father is fond of saying. Dorothea is with them too, and she stands when Rose comes outside.
“You’re awake,” she says, extending her hands. Without thinking, Rose springs off the porch, letting the governess enfold her in a hug. After a moment, Rose looks up through the dark, her eyes asking a silent question the older woman can’t see, but does understand. “No, my girl. No more. You’ve got through it at last.”
“But I thought…”
“And you may leave thinking to me tonight. All things considered, you’ve done rather well. Why don’t you go and join your sisters?” Dorothea half-extracts the girl from her torso, steers her gently fireward. Alannah, laughing, extends her hands in comic imitation of their keeper. Rose giggles and skips over, embracing her sister roughly.
“A dozen dozen with a hot poker for you!” exclaims Alannah, falling backward. “A burnt bottom every night for a fortnight!”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you!”
“Easy,” Christina warns, looking at them from across the fire. But her eyes are kind. Rose rights herself, and her sister too, wincing a bit as she settles onto one of the round oaken logs their father placed as seats. No one comments on this, though. Christina has resumed talking about their trip to the city, which, despite no confirmation from the authorities having jurisdiction over them, all five siblings have accepted as fact. Rose joins in happily, getting into an argument with Triss immediately over whether they should go to the zoo or the museum.
“Which museum,” Tom intones. “There are lots of them, you know.”
“Shut up Tom,” Rose and Triss say in unison, and everyone laughs, even Dorothea, who has joined them by this point. Rose notices something shimmering dully amongst the coals: tin foil, someone has stuck a batch of potatoes to cook. After more arguments, and once the roaring fire has settled a bit, Tom produces sausages and a pan, and sets about cooking their dinner. They eat, quiet falling except for the snapping of the flames, and beyond, in the opaque purple dark, the soft lapping of the nighttime Hudson.
It’s Rose who breaks the quiet. “I’m so sorry I’m the worst sometimes. I just…thank you for giving me another chance.”
“Of course, sis,” Triss says, but Dorothea puts a hand up.
“Hold on, Rose. First off, you know there’s always a second chance waiting for you. Always. Never worry about that. But I don’t….” Dorothea paused. “I don’t like this bit about you being the worst. Hmmm. Did you know, when I was a little girl, there used to be a contest in each town, to see who was the best man or woman in it? It was so silly, but it seemed quite important at the time. You’d run all sorts of races and do handstands and recite poems and do a bunch of arithmetic problems in a row, that sort of thing. And the ladies would do needlepoint and a baking contest and similar things, though I think they ran races too! Anyway, each town would have these contests, every summer. It was after the hay was in, so right at summer’s end, three Saturdays in a row. And whoever was chosen would drive off to Dobb’s Ferry for the final bout, all of the most impressive young men and women of all the counties around. And we’d all go too! It was a spectacle.” Dorothea looked around, and laughed a bit. “There were fewer spectacles back then, I assure you.” All the Hawthornes were listening, fascinated to hear a story from their governess’ fabled youth.
Dorothea took a bite of her sausage, chewed for a moment. Then she swallowed and continued. “So we’d all pile into this little town, and all day and into the evening, there would be more contests. But these were so exciting, because these were the best of the best! And finally, at nine o’clock that night, after all the results had been tallied, and the judges had deliberated, the mayor of Dobbs Ferry would stand onstage and announce the winners! “And here they stand!” he would shout. “The best of the Hudson! Let them be proclaimed!”
“And we would all cheer, and they would be famous! At least for a year. But in their town, and among those who knew them, anyone who was named the Best of the Hudson, that was an honor that would follow them for their whole lives. It was really a fine thing. It’s a shame we let it go.”
Dorothea sighed, lost for a moment in her thoughts. The low, unsteady light of the firepit gilded her still-youthful face as she emerged from her reverie, and looked around at her gathered charges. Then her eyes settled on Rose.
“I tell you this story because every time I look at you, at all of you, that’s exactly what I think. Here you all stand! I know you’re not perfect, and I know this weekend’s events won’t be the last time a lesson needs to be taught in this house. But my goodness, if you all aren’t the Best of the Hudson! Let you be proclaimed!”
Quite thoughtful and rich