Forty Five
Thereafter, ‘tasting’ Miss Lucinda became an evening ritual. Something about so humbly being made to accept something from her, her bodily fluid, brought mental acquiescence, a curious psychological peace in taking something few would ever want or desire. It was hers, and it was being offered only to me.
Meanwhile, Miss Lucinda’s blacksmithing efforts resulted in an array of black metal shapes, none distinguishable as to purpose. Then one day she announced that it was time, and the words used shocked me.
“My husband is returning, Thomas. He will find you acceptable, but not in the house, or the barn for that matter. You’ll need to be further adorned for proper restraint.”
Husband!
“But Miss Lucinda, I thought... I believed...”
My stammering is interrupted by uncharacte
