The Virgin of Greenbrier: The Greenbrier Trilogy, Book One

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

“I can’t. I just can’t do this.” Sitting on the edge of a squat bench in the kitchen, Lucy’s hands trembled around the cup of hot tea, nearly sending the steaming liquid over the rim. The blanket perched on her shoulders gave her little comfort. Her eyes burned from tears and her throat ached from the retching. “Why did it have to be that? She was trying to look after me, protect me. That’s all. That’s not so horrible, is it?”

“She defied Massa Beau’s decision and in front of all his friends and argued with him.” Lucy heard the cook’s words through the emotional fog.

“He can’t always be right. Nobody is always right. I’m not always right though I really used to think I was, you know?” Lucy spoke faster and faster, repeating herself and not at all clear even in her own mind what she said.

“Massa Beau says you is to stay here with me until his guests are gone. Elz’beth gots your sickness all scrubbed up. You just sit.”

Lucretia looked at Abby suddenly, “Where is Cassy? Do you know? Is she all right? Oh, I so hated my grandmother after that for what she did. Hated her!” She stood up, pacing the small area in front of the hearth. “How vile of her! It made me sick then and still does. Is Cassy okay? Do you know?”

Abby pried the delicate cup from Lucretia’s whitening fingers. “Lawdy, Miss Lucy, you gots to calm down, you hear? Cassy be fine. She been punished far worse than that. She be fine. I promise you.” She adjusted the blanket on Lucretia’s shoulders a bit more and returned her to the high-backed, plank bench where she had been sitting. “Sit down now an’ collect yourself.” She pushed Lucy down into the seat, “Sit.”

Lucretia pulled her legs up, curling into the corner of the seat and drew the blanket around herself like armor. She wanted to go home, but knew this was her home now. The fire blurred before her eyes as they filled with tears. She may as well be in the sanitarium as here. This place is just as full of crazy people as there, and the man running it all here was just as insane as any patient could be.

She must have closed her eyes and fallen asleep for the sound of his voice woke her as he entered the kitchen. She didn’t move, keeping her eyes shut. She had expected a growling fury, the slamming of his fist on the table, but he sent the cook away with a low, calm voice. The bench creaked as that disgusting man sat beside her. Lucy remained frozen with a mixture of fear and rage. She didn’t want to talk to him. Why didn’t he say anything, she began to wonder. Did he just sit there and look at her or at the fire? Just go away, she thought. Go away and leave me alone.

But he did not go away. She heard him sigh, as if he was about to say something, then there was the continued silence. His hand touched the strands of her hair that hung over the edge of the woolen blanket. It was all Lucretia could do not to shudder or pull away from the gesture. The bench creaked again as he stood, and although she couldn’t be sure – maybe it was just the pot of water on the fire or the settling of a log she heard – Lucretia wanted to believe she heard the words, “I’m sorry,” just before the sound of his boots retreated from the kitchen.

Her eyes opened. There was tenderness in him. Why did that surprise her so? She had seen it before. But, in front of his peers, how had she expected him to be? He was a man, after all. Men seemed always to have to prove themselves to each other. He had made an example of Cassandra, not just to prove something to her and Lucy, but to the other men in the room. His actions clearly said, “I am in control.” Lucretia wondered what reasons he had given for succumbing to her plea when he let Cassy go. Surely he had done so. Could she blame him?

When the kitchen door swung open again, it was Abby and Elizabeth. Lucretia only glanced at them, feeling sad and useless in a house where everyone had their place and function. Everyone but her, that is.

“Miss Lucy, Massa Beau says you is to be on kitchen duty till tomorrow after breakfast clean up. You can sleep with Elz’beth or Mary, an’ the three of you is to take turns tending the fire.” Abby, despite her color, was definitely in charge of this part of the house. She walked over and handed Lucretia an apron. “Ever pluck a chicken?”

“No.”

“You is about to learn, chil’.”

He had never been more frustrated with a slave as he was with Lucretia Borgia. Just when she seemed at ease in his house and with his presence and authority, something would set her off again. This morning had been a fiasco. It had only been two and a half days, but usually, by now, he had a clue which direction to go with those in training. With her safely tucked away and busy in the kitchen until morning, Dr. Addams could focus on some sort of regiment for her. Leaving her alone in her room had set her to thinking too much, he reckoned. The de Sade book had been moved and she’d taken a peek out her bedroom window. He had expected a livid rage from her, only to find her totally unresponsive instead. Lucretia must be kept busy, physically and mentally, but it mustn’t be anything monotonous. That would only let her mind wander where her fears and doubt would find seed. He did not want to grow any more of those in her. He had to work on the trust. She must trust him; and, at this moment, he was sure she didn’t in the least.

He rolled up his sleeves and donned the heavy apron around his waist. There was a body to finish today. The doctor pulled back the white shroud, revealing the corpse of a man in his early sixties. Relations from the Deep South insisted he be sent home and buried in the family plot. Trains were starting to refuse passage of coffins unless the deceased was certified to have been embalmed and a coach would have taken too long.

With the embalming process complete all that was left to do was dress the dead man in the clothing provided and make an attempt at fixing the hair. The family always fussed over the remains anyway, so he did not strive for perfection here. The black slaves were too superstitious to help with the body of a white, and the white clients he served would not have taken well to the idea of black hands handling their loved ones. Much to his dismay, all the tasks would fall to him until it was neatly boxed and shrouded and ready to be loaded into the wagon first thing in the morning.

As Dr. Addams worked, his thoughts drifted over and over again to Lucretia. Why had Cassandra’s punishment affected her with such violence? “What shall I do with her?” he asked the lifeless face before him. When it did not answer, Dr. Addams set the coffin lid in place and nailed it shut. He felt haunted and not by the dead.

In the office behind the embalming room, he wrote a letter to the dead man’s family. It was a standard one, expressing mutual grieving for the deceased he never truly felt. This was his job, getting involved emotionally would be something just short of lunacy, but the families liked to hear how gentle and loving it was all the same. Telling the truth of the matter would put him out of business in a week. No one wanted to hear how Uncle Edward had a needle jabbed into his artery and had all the blood drained from him. He sealed the letter with paste and set it aside for the morning post.

Lucy. The doctor pulled out another sheet of paper, smoothing it with his hands.

He dunked the pen and stared at the blank page. He wrote the date then paused again. The pen hung in the air until the tip of it grew dry. What could he possibly write to Lucretia’s father so early in her training? Two weeks was normally when he sent a report, not two days. At a loss, he put the pen, paper, and ink away and gave up. There were still several hours until Sunday dinner and although he certainly had many options before him on how to pass the time, none interested him. None, that is, other than rescuing his Lucy from her kitchen tasks. Perhaps some time with Cassandra would relieve the cauldron he had bubbling inside him. Surely the effects of the tonic had left her by now. He needed to do something to get his mind off that girl. She was too quickly becoming an uncontrollable obsession and if there was anything he hated more than not to be in control, Dr. Addams did not know what it was.

The chit-chat of busy females reached his ears long before he stepped into the sewing parlor. They fell silent at the sight of him. He noted Cassandra at the center table and motioned her to join him. He could have any one of these women, all of them at once if he pleased. They were all pretty, some with hair as pale as the sun and eyes sky blue. There were brunettes and red-heads, porcelain complexions and ones dark as rich coffee. Not a single one of them is what he really wanted, but he chose the niece of a general and Cassandra. The women both knew better than to speak or question and followed quietly behind him. He did not hide his agitation.

On their way up the stairs, he thought he heard Lucretia’s voice from the kitchen. Had he been alone, he would have paused to listen for it a second time. As it was, his step only slowed briefly before he quickened it again and mounted the stairs as if marching into battle. Cassandra and the general’s niece hurried their strides to keep up with him.

Instead of retiring to his private rooms, Dr. Addams took the ladies to one of the guest rooms. He sat in the only chair provided in the room. “Cassy, you Top. Susan, act as bottom. Pleasure each other for me.” He leaned back and lit a cigar, delighting in the idea of women kissing other women. Maybe this would distract him.

The two drew close together, not bothering to use the bed. Cassandra was a few inches taller than Susan and used that extra height to her advantage. She took Susan’s hair, pulled her head back and kissed the other woman deeply. Cassandra’s hand roamed down Susan’s back, reached her bottom then drew back only to return in a loud, hard slap. Dr. Addams felt the first twinges of his own pleasure. The girls continued to play, tease, kiss, suckle, spank, and arouse each other before him. Cassandra lay on her back, her knees up, while Susan sucked and licked Cassy’s s*x. Sweat glistened over both of their bodies. They were breathless and fevered.

“Don’t c*m yet, Cass,” he spoke with firmness. It was not a request. It was an order. She responded with a pleading whine that the doctor ignored. He liked when they begged. Susan slid up the length of Cassandra’s body, kissing the other slaves darker skin as she went. Dr. Addams thought how it would feel to kiss Lucretia that way. His s*x pressed against the inside of his trousers. How would it feel to take that forbidden fruit? Susan kneaded Cassandra’s breast as she took the caramel colored n****e into her mouth. Her knee pressed Cassy’s wet flower. The doctor watched, concentrating only on the two women before him.

Susan’s lips traveled to Cassandra’s throat, ears, and mouth. Her fingers played with the other slave’s pink bud. “Please, may I, Master?” Cassy begged.

“Not yet.”

The whine grew deeper, more desperate, but years of training allowed Cassandra to somehow hold back. The doctor’s fingers released the buttons of his trousers. “Cassy, come to me. Susan, behind her, finger her until she cums for me.” The girls scurried into position. Cassy’s full lips wrapped around the Master’s engorged c**k and began to suck. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying pulse and pull of her mouth. While she pleased him, Susan rubbed Cassy harder, dipping her fingers deep into her sister slave.

His hands suddenly clamped down on either side of Cassandra’s head, pushing her down and his hips thrust up hard. Cassandra was unable to ask permission now. Dr. Addams’ mind refused to let go of the images it held. In his vision it was not Cassandra who knelt between his legs. It was not Cassy who sucked him and stretched his member harder and harder. Those were her pleading sounds he heard.

“Oh god, Lucy.” The doctor’s pelvis rose, pushing his member so far back into Cassandra’s throat she could not breathe. Still, he held her down; crazed with all the desires he’d held in check. Cassandra’s own muffled scream of release was lost beneath his own roaring pleasure. His surroundings went gray as Cassandra sank to the floor, released of his grip. A trickle of his fluid escaped from between her parted lips.

“Leave me.”

“Master?” Cassandra rose to her knees, studying his face, her brow creased with worry.

“I said leave me!” he bellowed.

Cassandra and Susan retreated from the room, careful to pull the door shut behind them.

He wanted her and not just her virginity. He’d taken more than his share of virgins. It was exciting and rewarding, but there was more to having Lucretia than that. Perhaps what made him want to control her so much was the fact he knew he never completely would. She could submit and give him what he wanted, that had already been demonstrated to a lesser degree. But there was part of Lucretia he would never control. Therein lay the seed of his frustration. He didn’t know how to reach that part of her.

Others, easily molded, taught, trained, and controlled had brought him pleasure and challenges, but it was all fleeting. They were brought in, just as Lucy had been, went through the program and then away they went again. A string of pleasures stretched out behind him, back into his past, but not a single diamond he’d worked to polish remained his own. The house was full of slaves in all shapes, colors, and sizes, but they were more like toys and games he only played with on rare occasion. Cassandra was his favorite, his black pearl, but even she was not enough to satisfy these new cravings nor could she ever be.

Here he sat, sprawled in a chair, recently spent of physical desire and not even close to satisfaction. Yes, he mused, he wanted Lucretia and should have every right and privilege to go to find her and take from her what he knew he must have. So why then did he not do it?

“Because you have a contract with her father not to,” he seethed, despising himself.

With a growl, Master Addams rose, straightened his clothes and left the room.