CHAPTER 1
Kate Scott, a curvy brunette and associate editor of the Evening Herald and judge of the newspaper's story competition, smiled when she read the covering note attached to the thick manuscript.
My name is Harry Blackwell. I submit this story as my entry in the Evening Herald's Annual Best Story Competition. I don't believe I have much chance of winning the $100 prize and have to admit my entry is many times over the 800-word limit but there you are. All I can tell you in this covering letter it's a story that needs to be told because it happened during my youth and the principal character was my late mother, Emma Blackwell.
Kate came from the village of Peakville, twenty miles east of the city, and knew Harry Blackwell as did everyone in the village and for miles around.
Harry had been confined to a wheelchair since he was seventeen in a bout of foolishness when drunk, he fell off the head and shoulders of the statue of Silas Peak in the village square. Harry landed on a very solid wheelbarrow at the base of the statue that had been used in Peak Coal Mine a century ago. He suffered spinal and severe pelvic injuries and never walked again.
When Harry came home from hospital his parents encouraged him to live as normal life as possible and he enrolled at an agriculture college and gained a degree in farming practice. The then editor of the Evening Herald, acting solicitously, agreed to Harry becoming agricultural for the eastern sector of its circulation area. Harry excelled and when the newspaper's farming editor retired, Harry was appointed to the position. He'd retired four years ago, aged forty, and became Radio Rural's 'Farming Notes' broadcaster for two hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings and his 'Gardening Notes' hour on regional television on Sunday mornings had a huge following and the show was syndicated to other TV stations.
Kate knew Harry was a very likeable guy. Over the years several caregivers had lived with him and her widowed mother Helen was currently Harry's live-in housekeeper. Rumor was he was sensation in delivering cunnilingus. Kate wasn't sure that her mom was into that at her age.
Sighing although hardened by the work of her judgmental career, Kate tossed the manuscript aside because the entry failed to keep within the 800-word limit. When going home that evening she pulled the manuscript from the pile marked 'return to sender' and took it home to read. Her engineer husband Noel, whom Kate suspected had a girlfriend he's so far had managed to keep secret, was away on a consultancy project and so she had plenty of reading time as their two young adult children had long left the nest.
Kate knew a deep secret, that she was Harry Blackwell's half-sister and believed even Harry didn't know that truth.
She read for hours, hugely fascinated to learn about her real mother and finally fell asleep sometime in the small hours, having wept at times because she'd not been allowed by her foster mother to even talk to the fascinating Emma Blackwell.
Until Helen confessed, Kate hadn't known Helen was not her real mother and that when she was a child she was unaware Emma was simply enquiring about young Kate because she always took an interest in her eight illegitimate children that had been 'adopted out' to overcome legalities
In reading the manuscript, Kate had learned far more that what her mom Helen had confessed to her when Kate turned twenty, that Emma Blackwell had been Kate's genetic surrogate mother.
Kate finished reading Emma's story next evening and was left emotionally devastated.
Emma had died only a year ago. Why had she not contacted Emma? Just because her legal mother made her promise not to was no excuse.
Kate wept, unable to accept she'd been so weak. She'd always loved her mother Helen but now she realized she should have also loved Emma for making her birth possible. Kate thought of seeking counseling but gritted and scolded herself, "Don't be such a wet. Go to Harry and ask is it all right that you love the memory of his mother because she was also your mother."
Feeling a little better about it, Kate decided she must keep this secret intact from everyone but Harry.
Then she thought why hide it? She was proud of Emma Blackwell. She should tell her husband Noel and then Jenny and David. Oh that would really place her in the thick of things.
So what?
Yes so what?
Then another thing hit Kate. Harry knew then names of his eight half-siblings. Although it was clear the names being used were not the real names of the couples and babies, Harry knew so much, enough to write a book? Yes Harry did that because he knew everything. That meant Harry knew she was one of the eight, that he was the only legitimate child of Emma Blackwell!
God what a mess.
Kate felt quite sick but went to work just before 8:30 am as normal and after the editorial conference, wrote the day's editorial about community litter being a sign of poor civic management and untidy people who were the thoughtless or willful members of a consumer society. How fucking banal, Kate fumed, as she collected her thoughts about litter to add to the editor's waffling comments and other options tossed around by other senior editorial staff who gave the impression they would never litter the landscape.
Kate knew she'd much prefer writing a tribute to the great and loveable Emma Blackwell.
She banged out the editorial and emailed it to editor Guy Watson so came in grinning and said, "What's got into you today Kate, all the fire and brimstone about people engaged in littering."
"Then edit it. You usually do."
"No it's about time that bastards received a good tongue lashing," Guy said, picking up a piece of screwed up paper off the floor.
"Guy are you going out to lunch today?"
"No I have Peggy bring in something for me."
"Then order me a chicken sandwich a cappuccino. I'd like to spend time with you and give you something to read."
"My wife forbids me to read porn."
"Guy!"
"Oh sorry, yes come through at 1:00."
Munching a thick bacon and egg sandwich, the florid-faced 51-year old Guy Watson began reading.
"So Harry has written an excessively long obituary about his mother?"
"It's more like a memorial essay."
Good-natured Guy eyed her, brushing around crumbs to litter the carpet.
"But it was good enough for you to read right through."
"Yes." Kate confirmed uncomfortably, knowing Harry had been acknowledged as the best investigative reporter in the newspaper's 162-year history before he was appointed its current editor. She braced herself.
"So you know Harry, as we all do, but you read on looking for something you've always wanted to know?"
Kate couldn't believe it. She'd doubted the dubious claim that Guy was the newspaper's best investigative reporter ever and knew he had an acutely active mind but that question had virtually floored her.
"Read the preamble and Chapter 2," she choked, and ignored Guy's fucking know-all grin. The editor read the preface and then said, "Chapter two eh? Pour two glasses of wine and start on yours darling. You look as if you need it."
* * *
Accompanied by her best friend Nellie Stott, heavily pregnant Emma Blackwell waddled in late for Sunday morning's church service. The central core was packed because the side pews were closed off while the stone exterior walls were being strengthened from inside the church in compliance with new codes for public buildings.
Stopping reading, Guy said, "My pick is Nellie Stott will be your mom Helen Scott. Nellie is a derivative of Eleanor and Helen."
Kate cringed and gulped her wine and was told to pour herself more.
Craning her neck, the taller Nellie said there were two spare seats in the front row.
"Let's take them."
"But everyone will see that you are pregnant and know that your husband died just on a year ago."
"So and who cares? I was born to be continuously pregnant."
"Rubbish."
Emma said, "Be lovely to me darling. This little one shortly due is for you."
They walked down the aisle, Emma swaying proudly and Nellie trying her best to blend into the background as the minister and congregation began singing the first hymn. Nellie needn't have bothered to worry because all eyes were on Widow Blackwell as people attempted to guess who the father was and some females looking sideways at the males around them, including their own man.
Meanwhile at Emma's home, her mother was watching the three-year old Harry pedaling his trike up and down the flat garden path. She was thinking she should be praying for her daughter's forgiveness for being such a slut but couldn't because Emma had been such a heroine in agreeing to allow infertile Nellie's husband to impregnate her and Emma had agreed to hand over the newly born to Nellie and her husband for adoption.
During the boring church sermon, Emma thought happily about the efforts to get Thomas to impregnate her. Thomas would scarcely push his thin long and very white penis into her before he would ejaculate. She'd told him he'd need to hold off and to get her excited through foreplay and then to bang her for quite some time before pumping her with semen.
Emma finally achieved success after delaying Thomas' almost instant ejaculation by strapping an icepack around his testicles with an indentation she'd made to accommodate the balls. During intercourse, when she began to heat up, she's undo the quick-release strap on Thomas' back and his urge to ejaculate began to match her desire to climax through the heat of their bodies warming his balls and signally his brain into believing the time had come from Thomas to fire semen deep into Emma.
Two months and about forty copulations later Emma ended Thomas' visits thinking it was no use. Nellie reluctantly agreed and accepted the ice ball-bag with instructions on how it should be used to prolong her own bouts of sex with her husband.
"Every young woman expects to be banged for at least two hours ever session," Emma smiled.
Nellie was surprised to learn that. Her mom had told her ten minutes from the time of insertion was the norm for most males although some lied they could go all night.
And then, twenty days after last being penetrated by Thomas, Emma was more than sure she'd missed her period.
Emma invited Nellie and Thomas around for dinner than night and there was great joy when the couple learned from Emma there had been 'a lucky strike'."
Turning a page, Guy chortled, "A lucky strike? God what a mess."
"You've read far enough Guy. Let's talk."
"Okay but let's get the paper out first."
* * *
Watching Guy open a bottle of wine at 5:30, Kate knew she had to talk to someone and Guy was her best bet. God it could be so humiliating but deep down she knew Guy would come through for her and act as a wise counselor.
"Well what do you think about this mess?"
As managing-editor, Guy was more than Kate's employer. They had both been reporters on the newspaper, he was ten years her senior, and they had worked their way up. Although Kate had been a brilliant news editor, Guy had promoted to her current position because he needed a deputy he could trust to perform impeccably in his absence. They usually only kissed when drunk and in private and a couple of times she'd bared her breasts to him but that was a far as he got with her. But well he was married. She was tough and he knew he could speak the truth.
"Well I think that baby soon to be born in Chapter 2 was you."