The Virgin of Greenbrier: The Greenbrier Trilogy, Book One

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

“Me?” Lucretia laughed boldly. “We scarcely know each other.”

The cook’s smile remained intact. “You ever been in love, Miss Lucy?”

Lucy wasn’t sure as she had been. Boys had come to the house time and time again, but none of them had interested her; and, in the end, they had found her brazen personality less than appealing. Lucretia did not like boys anyway. She liked men. There had been a man, a younger slaver, that her father had brought to the plantation a time or two. He had been very close to the doctor’s age she reckoned, with his dark hair pulled back into a pony tail and a neat mustache. They had been introduced once but it was quickly made clear to her that this gentleman was not available. He was already married. “Is it terrible if I say I don’t think I have been?”

“You will be, Miss, an’ when you do, Lawd, you’s will gets all crazy, too.” Abby turned away, heading to the pile of dishes that needed to be done.

Lucretia walked up beside her, watching a moment before helping. “Why isn’t he married?”

“He was, for a time. Before we moved up from Lynchburg.”

“What was she like?” Lucretia began to wipe off plates with a towel as Abby handed them to her.

“Young, like you. Was a long time ago, Miss. Fifteen years. We don’t talk about it, you understand? Massa Addams is a private man.”

Secrets only fired Lucy’s curiosity. “Did she die?”

Abby handed Lucretia a scrubbed serving platter. “No, she ain’t dead.”

“Did she go crazy?” It was easy to imagine someone going crazy if they had been married to such as man Dr. Addams.

Abby glared with a furrow in her brow, “No more about it now, chil’. You wants to know, you ask him.”

That ended it. Lucretia would be too afraid to ask him about it and Abby would talk no further. Instead, they worked in industrious silence until the last glass was tucked away for the night.

“Abby, what’s a BJ?”

The cook’s brown eyes grew wide in surprise. “Who told you about that now?”

“Mary. She said that Cassy told her that the doctor…”

“Stop!” The black woman held up her hand, cutting Lucy off instantly. “Not one more word. No gossip.” Abby wiped her rough hands on the towel that was forever looped over her apron string. “Massa Beau hates gossipin’. You understands that? Unless you is talking to the person that was there too, you don’t talk ‘bouts it. Even what happened tonight between you an’ the Massa, you talks to nobody about it.”

Dread sank into Lucretia’s belly. “Cassy.”

“If the Massa got word of her saying anything…”

“She’ll be punished again, won’t she?”

“Yes, Miss. She surely will an’ it won’t be so mild as before.”

Mild? What had happened before was mild? Lucretia heaved a sigh and sank into the nearest chair. “He’s right. It’s all because of me.”

“Don’t fret, Miss Lucy,” Abby tried to assure her. “Cassy will recover. Lawd knows she’s a tough girl an’ she been with Massa Beau a long time. T’aint your fault. She should have known better.” The older woman sat down beside her. “Now as far as that question of yours, you want to know, you ask Massa Addams, ya hear?”

“I hear.” Gloom filled her.

The house was drowsy and quiet. The wind blew hard from the north, rattling the glass in the panes and making the boards moan in protest. It was nearing midnight and a chilly rain had begun to fall. In a private exam room, Beauregard Addams stood at the small window and watched the tiny rivers move down the glass. He was not tired. He had not even undressed. From here, he could see the back door of the kitchen wing and the wide expanse of lawn. Just to the right of the back door was a window and through that window he could look into the kitchen. Light and shadow moved and flickered as someone, maybe even his Lucy, now leaned forward as if tending to the fire in the hearth. Behind him, blindfolded, gagged, and strung up by her wrists so that her feet barely touched the floor, hung Cassandra.

Sparks drifted up the chimney. She had volunteered the first half of the night, knowing sleep would not come quick enough. Her mind was too busy. Elizabeth and Mary were already sound asleep in the room above the kitchen. Abby, too, was gone. Quiet and solitude stretched out before her. The rain had started about an hour ago. Lucretia had always liked rain, day or night. It worked to soothe her. Even the far off roll of thunder made her relax a bit more. The blanket felt good around her shoulders as she pulled it up again.

What a horrible weekend it had been. And there were dozens more to come with all the days and nights in between as well. How would she manage? His questions to her and the answers she was to give kept rising to her mind. Why are you here? Are you here of your own free will? “To bring you pleasure, obey your orders, and accept your domination over me,” she whispered to herself in the dark. The only light in the room came from the fireplace where the freshly placed logs were just now being licked around their edges by the flames. “No, I don’t want to leave,” her answer surprised her. The logs hissed and Lucretia realized how very true that statement was to her. She did not want to go. If she left now, she would never get the answers she was looking for. With all its horror, the place fascinated her. She wanted to know more, explore more, learn more and, most of all, find something that was purely her own, her self. “And what if Mary and Abby are right?” she continued her one sided conversation with the logs. She didn’t mean to close her eyes, but they fell shut. What if he does love me?

He had begun his training in New Orleans, not just as a surgeon, but as a Master, as well. The role of dominant came easily to the doctor even as a young man. Growing up, he had never understood the feelings, the need to control or the s****l thrill that went through him under the most unusual of circumstances. For years, he had kept these desires to himself. Two years into his medical training he had been given the opportunity to travel to France. While there and enjoying the prostitutes, he learned he was not so unique, but part of an elite and dark s****l society. His mentor in the States knew that this was the only way to show Beauregard all that there was. The worlds of domination and submission flung open their doors to him and the young doctor fell willingly into its embrace. He studied with dozens of dominant men and women and was amazed at the huge number of people that were willing to yield to his control. Day and night for nearly six months every waking moment was full of lessons from how to properly handle a flogger, to any number of bondage techniques and, most importantly, the many varieties of mental games available to him as Master.

Returning to New Orleans, the doctor married and moved to Lynchburg to study the new field of embalming. But the s****l lessons of Europe would not leave him. He had new ideas, desires, and needs that now wanted fulfilling. Christine, his lovely, blonde haired and blue-eyed wife, had been sickened by it all. His attempts to teach her even one thing fell flat, always ending in her shrill, nagging screech of revulsion.

They had not been married five years when she found him and Cassandra in one of the back stalls of the small stable, Cassandra spread naked over his knee taking and enjoying a hard spanking. Unlike so many, Cassy had listened with rapt attention at all he had described. In his youthful ignorance, he told one too many of his peers about his interests. His enthusiasm was his undoing in Lynchburg. Word of his eccentric ways spread like wildfire. Not two days after the incident with Cassy, Christine left him and took their two small children with her.

More angry than sad, he had packed up everything he owned and moved to the smaller town of Winchester, bringing along his loyal slaves Abby, Thomas and Cassandra. Out of everyone, only Cassy had truly understood his motives. He’d meant, at first, to set Cassy up as head housekeeper, but Abby would have none of that. She’d ruled the roost in Lynchburg, barely tolerating Christine’s rightful place. She was not about to let a mere girl like Cassy take charge of the new house.

But that would be the only thing that remained the same once he’d found and purchased the property on which Greenbrier now stood. Privacy was paramount. He would start up a new practice, but this time, would work diligently behind the scenes to create exactly what he had now, an exclusive men’s club and training school for women, much like those he had been privy to abroad. Only now, he was no longer a student but the Head Master. It had been difficult at first, but eventually one gentleman or another would take him aside and ask about the school.

As he now stood watching the shadowy figure in the kitchen, he realized the error of his ways and the spell that Lucretia had woven around him these past two days. Her innocence had captivated him, combined with her intelligence and a pretty face; he’d begun to fall in love. Love, he had been taught, would be the downfall of any good relationship you have with a submissive pupil. If you begin to love them, you will soon find you lack the proper control to correct and discipline. They will begin to get away with small things at first, and if you let it go too far, you would find that it is they that control you and that is unacceptable. The goal of the Master was not to coddle and spoil, but to train. Training did not involve love. Lucretia’s education had been trustingly placed in his hands along with a sizable amount of money. Tomorrow, without fail, the real lessons would begin.

Turning around, the doctor studied the dangling Cassandra. “As for you, my dear, I am very disappointed in you. You, out of everyone, should know better.” In his right hand he deftly swung a narrow, rattan cane. Gently, he laid it across the back of her upper thighs, sliding it back and forth, letting her know exactly what was to come. Cassandra whimpered through her gag. “I am so, so disappointed in you, Cassy.” His arm drew back and delivered the first of many blows.

She did not remember going to the feather stuffed mat but must have, for it was there that she woke the next morning. The room was chilly but not terribly cold and already the smell of freshly laid firewood had drifted in. She lay there for a moment, feeling her body ache from all of yesterday’s work. Lucretia could not recall ever hurting so much nor in so many places.

A figure filled the doorway. “Come on, chil’. Massa Beau don’t like to wait for his breakfast.”

“What time is it?” Lucretia sat up, combing her fingers through the snarls of her hair.

“Six. We serve at eight.” Abby waddled away from the door frame.

Elizabeth and Mary were already gone. A pitcher of warm water, a washbasin, and a face cloth sat on a low table against the wall. Lucretia padded over on bare feet, scrubbed her face quickly, and continued to try to untangle her long hair. A brush and mirror rested beside the basin and she took advantage of them. She wished for something to pull her hair back with, to put it in the tight proper bun it belonged but that was not to be. All the white slaves wore their hair down and flowing. She would have to do so as well.

The kitchen was alive. Mary bustled in from the hen house with a basket full of fresh brown eggs. Elizabeth carved off generous slabs of bacon while Abby started a huge bowl of corn muffin batter. “What can I help with?” Lucretia asked, surprised the question came so easily to her.

Abby pointed to the door that Mary had just come in from. “Max should have some milk ready for us. Take the cloak there and the boots.” They were the same ones Mary had just removed from herself. Abby handed Lucretia two metal pitchers. “Have him fill these up.”

Out Lucretia went into the cold, wet October day. The sky was rippled with gray clouds. Which barn, she wondered, standing for a moment looking around. She’d not seen a cow barn, only the horse stables. To her left stood a suspicious looking structure, and it was to this smaller barn she headed. Her breath puffed out in front of her as she went. The boots were too big and Lucretia scuffed and shuffled through the new patches of mud. Inside the milk house was warm and dry. The only white, male farmhand Lucretia had seen all weekend, poured a smaller bucket of milk into a large milk can.

He looked up as she entered and smiled, “Morning, Miss.”

She held the two pitchers out a little, “Abby sent me for milk.”

He was handsome and muscular. His pale, green eyes sparkled under strawberry blond lashes and thick hair that desperately needed to be trimmed. “Over here,” he said, taking the pitchers from Lucretia.

“Are you Max?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiled again. “You must be Lucretia.”

“Yes.” Max handed her back the pitchers, now brimming with fresh, creamy milk. “Thank you.”

He held the milk house door open for her, “Welcome. Nice to meet you, Miss.”

“Nice to meet you too, Max.”

Lucretia plodded slowly back to the house, daydreaming over who this Max was.

“Step it up, girl. Step it up,” Abby called from the doorway with impatience. She took both pitchers before Lucretia was even in the door.

They set the table again for twelve. At half past seven, those who had earned the privilege began to enter and find their seats. Lucretia watched through the crack of the partially opened door. Cassandra was not among them. As with dinner, the trays were filled. For this meal, Lucretia would start at the noon-time position and serve Dr. Addams first. She saw him enter and backed away from the door, ready to take her tray.

He looked tired and grouchy as Lucretia stepped out into the dining room. Keeping her eyes lowered at all times, she poured his coffee and set a small cup of orange juice down by his plate. He didn’t say anything, but Lucretia knew she was being observed even more carefully than before. Why did he have to be in such a foul mood all the time now? She had almost started to like him.

“Argh, what a grump.” Lucretia rinsed out the juice pitcher.

“Who?” Mary asked.

“Who do you think?” Lucretia rolled her eyes. “All this wealth and all these women and slaves at his beck and call and he just sits there scowling.”

A loud pounding erupted at the front door. Heavy boots thudded quickly down the short passage to the dining room and a breathless voice struggled to be heard. “Master Addams, an urgent message.”

All eyes were on the young boy messenger. “What is it, boy?” The doctor was impatient, as he always seemed to be.

“John Brown, sir. John Brown and a group of his followers, they took over the arsenal at Harper’s Ferry last night. He’s armed the slaves who will join him, sir.” The room gave a collective gasp. Dr. Addams slowly rose to his feet. His expression did not change, but the red of his anger grew bright on his cheeks.