The fired glowed softly on the hearth, bathing the aged oak floors in warmth and color. Multicolored pillows still lay mounded across the floor before the fire, and the tall triple pane windows still stood sentinel over the room. She never explained the chains and hooks located around the ceiling, and her children nor guests had ever asked. The old rocker her daughter had brought her when she'd begun to slow down sat silent in the corner, as though waiting for someone to claim it, to make it speak its own easy language. It had remained unused day in and day out since its arrival. Kiley had appreciated the gesture, but her place remained in the pillows, waiting.
Abigail, their daughter, had tried to get her to settle into the chair. She'd tempted her mother with pillows and bright colored soft throws and warm encouraging words filled with a daughters' love.
"Momma. Please. The cold floors are not good for your arthritis. You know how much it pains you when winter comes."
Kiley had steadfastly refused. She'd known her place when she met Edgar and it was in that place that he would expect her to be when he came for her. She would admit only to herself and Edgar when she was alone with her memories, that it was difficult to stand after kneeling among the pillows. But this too would pass, though she never mentioned as much to her daughter. A few times she had allowed Abigail's husband or brother to pick her up and settle her on the couch. When they left, she would slowly stand and make her way back into her pillows to wait.
She sat there now, gnarled fingers cloaked in paper thin skin stroking the teardrop diamond suspended from the thin gold collar around her throat. More years ago than she could remember most days Edgar had placed the collar there, his laughing brown eyes sparkling with joy and happiness as he claimed that which had always belonged to him.
"Now my little golden girl, you belong to me." His fingers caressed her cheek as her own came up to tentatively touch the gold band. "And, if you are a good girl, one Christmas I'll add a pretty bauble to the choker." He'd put on his most strict face. "But you must earn it."
Playfully she'd nipped at his finger and asked, "What would you have me do to earn it Master?"
"Hmm. I suppose I'll have to demand something extraordinary."
His voice had softened then, filled with the love that crowded his heart. His hands cupped her face as his lips brushed across hers. "For you are a most extraordinary submissive, and you are mine."
She remembered as clear as the snow falling outside what followed. He bound her and lifted her above the floor suspended by her arms. They'd been much stronger then, her body more supple. The things he'd done to her would never be mentioned in polite society, nor among the friends they'd maintained down the mountain. If the question was ever raised why Edgar and his lovely companion never entertained, it was never asked within range of them. But he could make her body burn with hunger or sing with pleasure at his whim. Her entire being had been devoted to maintaining his pleasure. And he never denied her own, though he often took his sweet agonizing time offering it to her.
Looking up, Kiley fastened her rheumy gaze on the chains and pulleys attached to the ceiling. Rust had claimed them long ago, silent witness to the passing of time, and of Edgar. But the memories permeated the room, enveloping her in warmth and sweetness. On a warm summer day, she could still hear the steady rhythm of metal against wood as her Master split and stacked wood for winter. In the soft mountain breeze that brushed against her skin, she could still catch the salty scent of sweat and sun from his skin.
And in the night, moments before sleep claimed her, she could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck, the firmness of his body stretched along hers, the slow brush of his lips across her forehead just before he whispered, "I love my golden girl."
In all her days, Kiley would never forget the last time he'd said those words to her. He and their son Jacob had left early one morning to hunt. Kiley and Abigail spent the morning baking and preparing side dishes for supper. Jacob was leaving Christmas Day to report to basic training before the New Year began. They'd agreed to have Christmas early. Their celebration was planned for the following day, two days before Christmas. The tree stood majestically in the corner of the living room, framed by the woodlands beyond. Already the scents of Christmas floated about the air currents in the room, warmed and exploded by the flames in the fireplace on the south wall.
"Mom," Abigail laughed. "I am not plucking that bird this year. Let Dad do it." Her laughter danced alive around her. "Better yet, let Jake do it. It will give him a Christmas memory to take with him."
"Hmm," Kiley considered. "It certainly has merit. It would mean neither of us has to do it. But, have you considered how the feathers will tickle going down? Because you know he'll never get them all."
They were standing in the kitchen giggling, flour up to their elbows when the front door burst open. Jake stood there, struggling not to cry, his father fighting to stay on his feet beside him. Blood blossomed across Edgar's chest, his face pale and wan, the color gone from his skin.
Every precaution she and Edgar had ever taken to shield their children from the way they lived vanished as the image burned itself into her memory.
"Master," she screamed, dropping the lump of dough she'd been kneading and rushing across the room.
Edgar looked up at her, his left hand rising slowly, trembling with the effort. He reached out and touched her cheek and smiled. "I love my golden girl."
His eyes closed, and he melted to the floor, sliding out of Jake's arms even as his son struggled to catch him.
It was days after the funeral before Jake could put the words together to tell her what happened. When the sheriff heard Jake's story, he filled in the gaps.
