📚 changing times Part 3 of 2
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EROTIC COUPLINGS

Changing Times Ch 03

Changing Times Ch 03

by drewscott
19 min read
4.72 (1600 views)
adultfiction
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The following is a continuation of Chapters 1 and 2. This continues the story of a seasoned man in a rural setting. But it's about how his beliefs have shifted due to factors and experiences beyond his control.

This one is dark and has no sex. It does have an after-rape sequence that may offend some readers, please don't read if you will be offended. Justice on many levels is provided in this story. But justice is served in the end.

This is a historical drama from the turn of the last century. In an odd way it is the same as it is today. Social upheaval, technological shifts that dwarf the social structure of the times, and religious shifts that play against the changes in society in Europe and the USA.

Take time and understand the changes taking place back then.

These changes are happening now with the same potential impact on society.

Instead of Steam engines and huge mechanized factories (think weaving/sewing and Grain processing...not cars) we have AI, the internet and social media (yuck).

Being a fledgling historian, I will be keeping this accurate to the times. This means racism, misogyny and at times domestic violence. They were not only tolerated but expected in certain stratum of our society. If you do not believe me watch a movie from the 50's THIS century. John Wayne and Scarlet O'Hara where he fights for 'love' and is handed a branch by an elderly neighbor woman to beat his new wife. Plus, John Wayne was a womanizing, racist too.

While my beliefs are opposite, I have spent time in various parts of our beloved country (USA), and have found misogyny, racism and hatred of the 'others' to be alive and well. They (Perpetrators and beliefs) may live in the shadows and darker corners, but they are there. They have peaked their heads out, as of late, but nowhere near what they once were...yet.

This story travels back to the 'Once were'...1906.

***

Changing Times Chapter 3.

He heard the water closet flush in the bathroom. A head poked out of the doorway to the trophy room and Sam looked half asleep still as she half leaned in the doorway.

"What ungodly time is it?" she asked with a bit of attitude and a lot of unpleasant tone.

"Half past breakfast, at least out here in the country Ms. Samantha." Drew responded, partially chuckling to himself.

"How long have you been up?" she questioned again with only a small amount of attitude.

"I usually awaken at 5 and feed the chickens, goats, and sheep. The dairy cattle are my cousin's responsibility unless he is off galivanting on 'vacation'." Drew shook his head. He had enough 'vacation' and travel during his war and Europe years.

"He will be here in an hour or so. He is out feeding his main herd at his place down the way."

"Five in the morning? Why?" she asked again, still standing in the doorway wrapped in the ring quilt.

Drew kept looking at her and could see honest confusion in her eyes. Like a 5-year-old that did not comprehend.

"The animals do not care if you are sick, tired, or grumpy. They need to be fed and watered twice a day. It is a simple responsibility, and one that you will have to get used to.

Then something snapped a bit in him,

"Your country prison has many positive and negative aspects. As Teddy once told me, "Embrace the positive!"

*

Drew sat on the edge of his mother's gravestone. It was not placed next to his father's grave, at her insistence...on her deathbed.

The last 20 years of their marriage had been something out of Old Testament biblical stories, fire and brimstone. His father had always loved her younger sister but was forced by circumstances to marry the older sister, his biological mother. The youngers death during one of the many waves of 'Russian Flu' had not shaken his love for her. Each Sunday he would walk to the youngers grave and place flowers, if they were available.

Toward the latter years of the marriage, the quiet 'proclaiming' of his love for another, soured any version of patience or acceptance within his mother. The last 20 years were a sad, cold, brutal life for his father. Being a stoic, his father braved constant comments and whispered belittling, from his mother, with quiet fortitude.

His mother had been buried at the back of the graveyard at Leatherwood Church, again her choice. Her grave was accompanied by the markers of the Grand Army of Republic (Union Civil War soldiers). Not many came back in any fashion that could be identified. In some cases, just bags of bones wrapped in a tattered uniform. They were all buried next to each other in formation with her grave to the right and set aside under the shade of an old oak.

He had come up to her grave to smoke his pipe and contemplate the last hour... and his future.

He had known it would be bad. Sure, there were lots of well-wishers and pats on the back after the sermon was done and Drew and Sammantha had 'renewed their vows.'

But he could see it in their eyes...they knew.

He could not fathom how the story was discovered.

He did not know who had passed the gossip.

He knew many in his community now understood his deep sadness.

He pledged to himself that he would find out who had caused the trouble today, and the pain that was spreading into his future.

The damage would not reflect on him as a member of the community. Marring a 'tainted woman' to provide a mother for his boys was nothing new. Even if they knew the whole story, he would carry no blame. He was male, a 'war hero', a good neighbor, and a steadfast businessman in the community.

In their eyes he was being a 'Godly and Christian man' by taking in this 'unholy woman.'

"If they only knew," thinking to himself. 'His Samia would have been looked down upon because of her orthodox Catholicism and the beautiful color of her Mediterranean skin.'

He knew he could hear the future sermon now, "Drew taking in this tattered woman that had been beguiled by Satan. This tainted woman that has slept with a 'colored heathen Muslim."

"Nigga Lover." would be whispered out of his ear shot.

*

He watched a starling swoop down and pick at the fall leaves.

"Drew," he heard called out. He turned his head and watched the Reverend walk up the slight slope until he stood quietly next to Drew.

"Did you tell?" Drew asked quietly.

"No Drew, I would never violate the sanctity of the confessional."

"Then how?" Drew asked quietly.

"I just cornered the oldest Gorley boy. He said he heard it from your cousin Joshua Kinley over at the Frog Town tavern. Joshua seems to have just been released from military prison. He just made it home a week ago."

"I won't even ask what that young man was doing at that house of ill gain," Drew commented.

"But I did." The Reverend paused looking at the same scavenging starling.

"He was making a delivery of corn mash for his father." responded the Reverend.

"So, its family," Drew commented and then paused, "I'll handle it."

"Curses on the navy and their inability to not gossip." Drew commented to himself.

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"Drew," The Reverend started to comment quietly and then paused, "You getting thrown in jail or worse, does nothing to help your new bride."

"The damage is done. Even if she does not know it, she will be tainted here for the rest of her time in this community," Drew stated as he turned his head to look back to the Reverend.

These were the eyes of his friend, Drew reminded himself.

Friends' eyes that had seen the horrors of war. Drew reminded himself they had been on the same battlefields. They shared the same nightmares.

"I'll go have a talk with my cousin," Drew quietly growled.

"Drew, not like the talks you used to have with the men you were responsible for."

It was a comment not a question from the Reverend.

"You don't have the Colonel here to clean up after you," The Reverend commented to the silent Drew.

*

Drew remembered the previous morning's discussion even though it seemed like a month ago. He had done his absolutions in his basement workshop. He had spent much of the previous day unloading, uncrating, uncovering, and measuring all the fancy furniture that was to be carted up to the house.

Henry had come up to the house to help with the heavier items.

He took a deep breath. The trip leaving the church and the whole way home was a very cold affair. It was not the weather nor the temperature of the air...it was his wife.

She did not speak as he helped her off the wagon in her flowing silk dress and layers of petty coats. It was not the deer that poked it head out and then startled his horse.

She now knew, they knew, the community knew...or that was his best guess.

As soon as they arrived at the farm, she stomped back to the front door, and he could hear it slam from the barn as he put away his horse and tack.

*

"You lied to me!" she screamed at him.

"I did not lie to you. The gossip just came from a very different direction." Drew finished with arms folded. He looked at her sitting in that same kitchen chair all gussied up in her silk dress and fancy buttoned up shoes. Her bonnet was tossed halfway down the long kitchen table.

"This was such a mistake...such a mistake."

"Could not agree with you more, but it is the life we have chosen or was chosen for us by God," Drew stated openly.

"Once the baby is born and safely removed from this area, the story that was concocted by the Bishop, will provide you with the needed sympathy to move on."

Her head snapped around and she glared at Drew.

"I want this thing out of me now. I want to go back to my friends in Philadelphia. Back to the parties and museums and culture."

She was crying so hard the tears ran in rivets down her cheeks. Makeup adding to the sad display on her face, running down her cheeks to puddle in the expensive clothing. Just dripping and pooling on the silk brocade on her decorative top.

Drew said nothing. He felt pity for her because of his cousin's actions.

His cousin...well that whole side of the family were jealous of Drew. What Drew had done with the farm and his life.

They had quarreled before. They argued about what each family member owed the rest. Drew knew it was just drunken talk. That side of the family had always been barley subsistence farmers. They spent more time and effort making 'shine' than they did plowing.

While they enjoyed their liquor and stomping around the forest hunting, they never learned the value of the bootstrap work it took to make something more of yourself.

Drew knew there would be a time he would call down to Frog Town for a reckoning.

*

And so, the next couple of months were a repeat of his mother and father. A cold short conversation with comments and bitterness flowing from every pour.

No more trips to church, no trips for her to town to get supplies and see humans and community.

The air became colder inside the house than outside. While fall turned to winter the inside of the house was kept frigid by his 'wife' and it had nothing to do with the operation of the heater.

Just cold hard bitterness.

Each night, Drew took to his porch, or he stayed in his workshop. Henry and others would stop by. The menfolk would not venture up to the house proper, nor into the upper floors of the house as they came to chat. Their womenfolk stayed clear, not a female from the three small counties would come near his place.

Each meal was left covered on the stove. Few words were spoken by either. Drew had tired of saying something and have belittling comments returned.

Just like his father before him.

*

The moaning began one night in the early morning hours and then came the spreading of moisture as her water broke.

Drew stepped out on the front porch and fired three quick rounds from his deer rifle. It echoed up and down their narrow valley. It was the signal for Henry or one of the other neighbors to pick up the midwife and bring her.

Deals had been made for silence.

The Reverend was the first to arrive. More for spiritual and emotional support than anything.

Drew stayed with Sam as she went through her contractions. When his hand slid up her nightgown to check the baby's position and how the baby was seated, he received a series of hard slaps from his 'wife.'

One of the hard slaps caught him as he looked up into her face with astonishment. It caught his eye. He felt a searing pain of her nails raking over his left eyelid.

There was a growling communication from her. As he pulled back from the pain, he looked into her eyes. Her face was twisted into an almost demonic mask.

"Don't you touch me, you, you backwoods simian." she stated in a half human half animal voice.

Drew left her in the bedroom as he walked to the kitchen to wash and dab his face. He heard a deep howling from the Pyrenees, until the giant white creature recognized Henrys black stallion.

Henry circled around below the house and then pulled his wagon up to the 'guest' road above the house. The midwife clambered down by herself and in two steps was striding across the large porch and in the front door. No need to knock, the door was open and only the screen door held back the night.

*

Drew was seated in the kitchen with the Reverend and Henry listening to the howls of pain from Sam. While he had delivered several babies in Cuba and helped with a delivery in Italy, he stayed seated away from Sam.

This was Northwest Pennsylvania, and menfolk did not participate in the birth. The three men sojourned out to the porch. Pipes and cigars were lit and became the norm. Drew did not partake in the local whiskey because he was ready to assist if called.

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After only two hours they heard the last of the of the screams and then the soft cry of a newborn.

Drew got up off the chair and looked at the other two. They would not meet his eyes.

They knew what was coming.

The giving away of a child, due to shame and embarrassment, was not something anyone would even comment about.

*

Drew entered the kitchen and started to walk to the doorway that led to his old office and first floor bathroom. That also led to the rear door to the lower bedroom he had set up for his Clara.

The last time he had walked this way, had been a dash when he was called by the midwife as Clara had started to spasm and later pass from this life.

He walked slowly towards the door when he heard that same demonic voice of Sam.

"Get that away from me!" she screamed,

"Get it away! away, away..." and the anguish turned to murmurs.

Drew started to walk faster but was met at the door by the midwife with a negative shake of her head, and an open palmed hand softly in his chest. Her other arm held a quilt wrapped bundle.

The ring quilt was folded and held the young baby.

Drew backed into the kitchen with the midwife following, shutting the door behind her.

"I am sorry," she stated and then took a deep breath, "seeing you would just drive her madder than she is now. I have never seen nor heard the things that she said over the past couple of hours," She paused and looked from the bundle into his eyes, "from any woman I have helped."

She quietly handed over the bundle to Drew.

"Call me when the deed is done. I want no part of it. I could not bear to throw away such a beautiful baby girl." She commented and then turned to look at Drew.

"I am sorry. I know what type of man you are. Its...its...I have never been involved in this type of thing before..." and then she turned, opened the door and went back into the bedroom.

Drew looked down at the bundle in his arms. He knew he should just hand the bundle to the Reverend, but he had to look.

He pulled back the petals of the folded quilt and first he saw a small growth of black hair and then a beautiful light mocha face. Her dark eyes, with long lashes, opened with the light shining on her face. She shifted her eyes to focus on this large being staring at her.

Drew had helped with past babies, in intolerable situations and conditions. But never had he had one look at him like she was.

Babys do not focus their gaze, but she did.

He had heard and read about it before, not in medical journals but in books about love and romance.

He fell into her eyes.

He became dizzy and sat in one of kitchen chairs never taking his eyes from hers.

He felt an odd warming presence. Like arms around him on a cold fall night. He felt a second presence also wrapped around him. He heard a whisper. He did not know if the quiet whisper was in his head or if he was just mad.

It was the first presence that whispered again.

"She is the combined essence of our daughter." he heard from the first...his Clara he knew that voice.

"And of ours," the second presence whispered too...his Samia.

They combined themselves and whispered that he needed to keep her and show her the love that he had felt for both the lost women in his life.

He was crying into the bundle and the tears were making the baby smile and gurgle.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a word from behind him.

'It is time Drew. I need to take it." Commented the reverend quietly.

Drew shook his head no. He had stiffened at the term 'IT'. He could still feel the presence of his two lost loves. He again looked down into the now closed eyes of his new daughter.

"She stays. Her name will be Clara Samia McMaster, and she will be loved and protected."

He heard the Reverend slide over and felt the hand rotate but stay on his shoulder.

"Are you sure Drew?"

"Really sure? You know what will be said."

Drew shifted his gaze, and the Reverend could see the steel glint in Drews eyes.

"I do not care about the opinion of others. I will raise her with love." Drew eyes dropped again to the baby in his arms.

He felt a burst of love from the presence of his lost love. Then they faded into a softer feeling of contentment and satisfaction.

He looked up into the eyes of his friend. He could see the worry in the Reverends eyes. "One day, when times are calm, we will sit on the porch and talk about my decision. Not today though, the baby will need milk. The love I have...breast milk I do not."

"Get the midwife," Drew whispered. He heard the Reverend go to the door and lightly knock.

The door partially opened and there was a whispered argument and then an exclaim from the whispered female voice.

He rolled the baby closer to his chest and could still feel the love he felt from his Clara and Samia.

*

Deals were made, and a wet nurse procured. The screaming that went on from his 'wife' caused many to think she had gone insane. No one thought it wise to allow his wife to be alone with the baby. So, the elder church women started to 'drop by' and take the baby during the day. Drew set up the one small room on the second floor as a nursery and the wet nurse would arrive and then feed the baby three times a day and then express milk for the rest of her needs.

Drew took the original master bedroom for his own, leaving Sammantha to the modified parlor on the first floor.

The air of the household was cold and forbidding...not for a lack of heat, but Sammantha.

She acted like the baby was not there and would not talk to Drew or even the wet nurse as they all traveled within one two story farmhouse.

His boys were another issue. From the beginning Drew knew he had an issue with the oldest. While only 12, Peter looked to the larger world and spent time reading, which Drew was happy about, but Peter 'wanted' things. Drew had spent many hours talking to him about the rhythm of the farm and need for simplicity.

"There is a strange difference between "Want and Need" he would lecture them. Peter was fascinated by the motor coaches and Drew was able to take them to a flying exhibition by the Wright Brothers down near Philadelphia. That just lit his desire for 'thigs' as they watched the rich populace with their fancy clothes and motor coaches.

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