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Subject: {ASSM} Sarah and the Stranger {Claire Kellis} (MF MFm Fm oral anal incest) [14/14]
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Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 11:10:03 -0400
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Sarah and the Stranger
a Novel by Claire Kellis

Summer, 2008



Chapter 14: _Cultures_



Lou took pain pills with his water and went to sleep in his bedroom.  
The family busied itself with Sarah-assigned chores.  When lunch was 
served half an hour later, the kitchen again met with Sarah's standards
of order, aside from the holes in the plaster where buckshot had passed
through Dillard's chest.  Jeff promised to fill them that same 
afternoon.

When everyone was seated and served, Jeff said around a mouthful of 
stew, "Some busy morning!  What do you make of your boyfriend now, 
Sarah?"

She shook her head and sighed heavily.  "I doubt he's my boyfriend 
anymore."

"He still likes you," Maggie asserted stoutly.

"It ain't the same.  He don't know me, Maggie."

Maggie touched her cousin's arm tenderly.  "Oh, you poor thing!"

Sarah accepted the sympathy by clasping her own hand over Maggie's.  A 
tear welled in her eye.  She said softly, "It's feels like ... almost 
like losing another husband."

"Oh, Sarah!"  With a scrape of her chair Maggie took the older woman in
her arms.

Jack said, "What do _you_ make of him, Grandpa?"

Jeff chuckled wryly.  "He's sure as hell not a farm hand!"

Jack blinked.  "But he ain't hurt as bad this time."

"That's got nothing to do with it.  Did you hear him talking on the 
phone?"

Jack shook his head.  "I didn't get much of that."

"Our good seeding helper turns out to be a big Chicago businessman."

"A rich one," said Maggie with a gleam in her eye.

Jeff nodded.  "Who's going to hire you as his secretary."

"What's a secretary?" asked Jack.

"I'm not sure," said Jeff, "but all the big businessmen got to have 
them, maybe to warm their peckers."

"I can do that too," declared Maggie.

"Where'd you learn to type?" Jeff asked curiously.

"You know where.  I got to 60 words per minute and could take Pittman 
fast as old Puffer could talk."

Jeff chuckled.  "'Puffer?'  Sounds like a play name."

"He puffed like a steam engine when he was coming."

"Did you say you took dick-man?" asked Jack with interest.

"_Pitt_man.  It's a kind of shorthand."

"What's that?"

But his mother interrupted.  "Oh god, I forgot to ask!"  She raised a 
stricken face to her father.  "Did you hear him say?"

"Say what?"

"If he has a wife."

"Hmm.  He told his brother to tell Mama and Lucy he was all right."

"'Lucy,'" Sarah repeated distantly.  "You think that's his wife?"

"Could be his sister."

"Not with my luck."

Maggie patted her shoulder.  "You poor thing.  Don't you ever get a 
break?"

"Maybe she has," countered Jeff.  "Sarah, how much do you owe on this 
farm?"

Sarah gathered her wits with a sigh.  "The last payment was in '36.  We
ain't made one since.  It left $4207 owing."

"So you'll owe that plus two years' interest.  I'll bet five grand will
cover it."

"It might.  The rate is five per-cent.  You're talking about Lou's 
reward money?"

"Yeah.  He's bound and determined you should get it."

She shook her head.  "He don't owe us anything."

Maggie protested.  "You think some deputy deserves it?  It was a reward
for _finding_ him.  You're the one who surely did that."

"That's right!" Jeff asserted.  "Daughter, if he wants to give it to 
you, don't you dare turn it down.  It'll save your farm."

Sarah sighed heavily.  "Don't you understand, Daddy?  I don't want ..."

"What don't you want?"

"Him to just pay us off."

Her father stared at her for several seconds.  "What if Lucy _is_ his 
wife?"

Her chin rose.  "I'll love him anyway."  Then it sagged.  "But how'll I
keep him?"

"You come right down to it," said her father slowly, "they's really only
one way."

"What's that?" asked Jack.

Maggie sniffed.  "Fuck him silly, what else?"

Sarah sighed.  "If he still wants me."

"I know the signs," Maggie asserted.  "Believe me, he still does!"

Sarah's face showed renewed hope.  "Maybe when he's stronger ..."


* * *


A drizzling rain fell the remainder of that day.  Jeff and Jack went 
back to the barn.  "You stay in the house this time," he told Maggie, 
not unkindly.  "We really need to get that work done."

They returned before four o'clock.  Jack cleaned the shotgun while 
listening to _Tom Mix_, sitting close to the radio turned down to avoid
disturbing Lou.  Jeff mixed plaster and filled the pellet holes in the 
wall.  Afterwards he sat at the kitchen table and watched the women 
prepare supper.

They heard the thud of footsteps on the front porch and someone outside
calling, "Hello, the house!  Hello, the house!"

Activity ceased.  Jeff blinked.  "Expecting anybody?"

"No."  Sarah put down her hand muffler and led the stampede to the front
door.

A car stood before the house.  A man already on the porch peered at the
arriving family through the screen.  He wore a rumpled suit and a damp 
fedora with a white card stuck in the hatband.

Sarah returned his stare.  "What do you want?"

"Is this the Martin farm?"

"Yeah.  Who're you?"

"Jeremy Halleck from the _Taylorville Courier_, at your service.  Would
you please confirm that Loomis Ronfield is your guest?"

"What, what do you mean?"

"Is Loomis Ronfield here -- from Chicago?"

Sarah looked worriedly around at Jeff, standing behind her.

He spoke up, "You're a reporter from a newspaper?"

"Yes, sir, the _Courier_ over in Taylorville."

"What do you want with Ronfield?"

"Well, I'm a reporter!  If what I hear is true, this may be the best 
story of the year, maybe the decade, at least in Christian County."

"So what?"

"So I want to ask him -- and you -- some questions, of course."

"To put in your newspaper?"

"Well, yeah.  Everybody in the country will be interested in how you 
saved a Ronfield heir."

Jeff shook his head.  His voice strengthened.  "They'll have to wait and
see if he wants to tell them anything."

"Okay.  How about if I ask _you_ a few questions?"

"We ain't talking about Ronfield, none of us."

The reporter blinked several times.  "Well, why not?  If you'll give me
your names, I promise you this time tomorrow the whole country will know
all about you."

Jeff chuckled humorlessly.  "You think we care about that?  We ain't 
going to talk about ourselves either."

The man hesitated.  "Can I at least see Mr. Ronfield?"

"No.  They ain't nothing here for you, Mr. Halleck.  You'd best leave."

"Come on, Mr. Martin.  Tomorrow there'll be reporters here from all over
the state, hell, the country.  Can't you give a local boy a little 
break?"

"Not without Ronfield agreeing."

"Well, let me ask him!"

"Sorry.  He's asleep and I ain't going to wake him up for no reporter."

Halleck heaved a sigh, reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a 
card.  "All right.  I see the telephone line.  Here's my phone number.
Will you talk it over with Mr. Ronfield and call me?"

Jeff pushed ahead of Sarah, opened the door and took the card.  "I'll 
let him call you if he's a mind to.  Good-bye, Mr. Halleck."

The man studied Jeff's uncompromising expression, shook his head and 
stepped off the porch into the drizzle, calling over his shoulder, 
"Please don't wait too long."

When his car started and backed away, Sarah said, "Thank you, Daddy."

A voice behind them declared, "He'll be back with lots of company."

They turned to find Lou barefoot in a T-shirt, having pulled on the 
pants scuffed in his fight with Dillard, bracing himself against the 
wall.

"Oh, Lou!" moaned Sarah.  "You shouldn't be out of bed."

"I know, but I need to make a phone call."

Jeff pressed forward.  "Let me help you to the kitchen."

"I wasn't thinking clearly," Lou said, leaning on Jeff's shoulder.  
"It's not such a great idea for you good people to put me up."

"Of course we'll put you up!" Sarah protested.

"Then I'll have to help you."

At the telephone he put the receiver to his ear but seemed to be 
searching the front of the instrument.  Then he blinked at Sarah and 
said reproachfully, "Somebody is already using it!  Where's the dial?"

She took the receiver and stepped up to the transmitter.  "Excuse us for
interrupting."

The receiver rattled.  Sarah sighed and said, "Yes, that was Mr. 
Ronfield.  I don't think he's used to party lines...  You will?  That's
very kind of you, Miz Parish."

She waited a few seconds then jiggled the receiver hook, listened, said,
"Just a moment, Mabel," and handed the receiver to Lou.  "Give her your
number."

He replaced Sarah at the transmitter.  "Operator, I want to call 
Chicago.  The number is Summerfield 5-7320, collect from Loomis 
Ronfield."

He leaned against the wall, smiled sheepishly at Sarah and shook his 
head.  "You're right: a party line!"

"It's okay, Lou."

Jeff asked, "Don't they use them in Chicago?"

"I guess ...  Yes, I'm sure they do."  His attention returned to the 
telephone.  "Gayle, this is Lou.  Let me speak to Charlie, would you, 
please? ...  Yes, I'll wait and thank you; I'm getting along okay."

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.  Sarah moaned, fetched
a clean dishcloth from a drawer and rushed it to him.  He took it and 
said softly, "Thanks, Sarah.  I'm getting a little wobbly."

"I wish you could sit down.  Daddy, can we take the telephone loose from
the wall?"

"Without breaking it?" Jeff responded.  "I don't know, honey."

"Don't bother," said Lou, waving a hand.  "Ah, yes, Charlie?  This is 
Lou.  I need help and I need it quick...  Oh, don't worry, I've learned
my lesson!  Next time a couple of your guys will go with me.  Who's on 
duty tonight?"

He listened briefly.  "Good.  Send Bert and his partner down here as 
soon as they can make it.  Tell them it's like a camping trip, to bring
everything they'll need: a tent, lights, generator, the works...  
Especially their weapons.  Mainly their job will be to keep out the 
curious, newspaper reporters in particular...  At the Martin farm in ...
Just a moment.  Mr. Thompson, can you tell my security chief exactly 
where we're located?"

"Sure."

"Here is Mr. Jeff Thompson.  He'll give you directions."

Jeff talked for a moment and handed the receiver back to Lou, who said,
"Let Bert's truck tow a car, Charlie, and his helper drive another.  
We'll need an extra...  Okay, thanks!  First thing in the morning is 
probably good."  He turned to Jeff.  "Is it still raining?"

"Drizzling, but the radio says it'll quit tonight."

"You heard that?  All right, Charlie; talk to you later."

When he hung up the receiver, Lou sagged in the chair with a sigh.  "A 
bang on the head takes a lot out of you."

Jeff said, "Ex-cons are pretty good fighters, usually.  Rest a moment 
and we'll get you back to bed.  Are you bringing other people onto the 
place, Mr. Ronfield."

"Oh, god!"  Lou covered his face momentarily.  "Of course I should've 
asked your permission.  Two or three men: good fighters, as you say.  
They'll keep outsiders from turning your place into a madhouse.  I hope
they won't disturb you overmuch.  They'll set up their own tent and 
stand guard at the entrance to your property."

"After that reporter I understand the reason.  But they don't need a 
tent.  They could stay in the barn."

"Two men?" breathed Maggie, eyes alight.

"Two men?" said Sarah.  "They could stay in the house, if they didn't 
mind pallets on the floor."

"That's very kind of you.  Of course only one of them will be asleep at
the time.  But let's wait and make those arrangements after you've met 
them."

Jeff handed a small card to Lou.  "Here's that reporter's number, in 
case you want to call him."

Lou nodded slowly.  "I guess we need to say something.  I certainly do 
want the Martins to get the credit they deserve.  A press-release is 
what we need.  After supper --" he grinned appealingly "-- and I do hope
I'm invited -- I'll dictate one to my new secretary."  His grin widened
to include Maggie.

"I'm ready," Maggie simpered.

"'Dick-tate?'" repeated Jack.  "She ain't your girlfriend."

"She's anybody's girlfriend," corrected his grandfather.

"Of course you're invited," declared Sarah.  "We're going to have that 
corned beef you like and maybe some sauerkraut, if Maggie left any."


* * *


Lou had his ups and downs.  He came to supper but ate lightly, 
complaining of a headache, and hardly joined in the conversation.  
Several times Sarah almost put her burning question to him, but his 
expression was so downcast that she refrained.

Her hand covered his at the table.  "Lou, I'm sorry your head hurts."

He sighed.  "It comes and goes, worse if I bend forward.  I wonder ...
This wrapping the doctor applied ...  I wonder if that's the cause.  
Will you unwind it after supper?"

She stood up and put little Joe into Jack's lap with the directions, 
"Mash up some more corned beef for him."  To Lou she said, "I can tell 
you ain't got no appetite.  Come on back to your bedroom and I'll take 
it off right now."

On his bed she piled pillows to support his back, knelt beside him, 
unwound the gauze and inspected his temple, gently parting the hair.  
"It's a bad bruise," she concluded, "but not bleeding.  The skin ain't 
hardly broken.  If you won't bang it again, maybe we can leave the 
bandage off."

"Ah, Sarah, that feels so much easier!  The doctor must have tied it too
tight."  He caught her hand and kissed the fingers.  "You have a 
wonderful touch."

She smiled indulgently and caressed his cheek.  "You always did love my
touch."

His eyes flashed up at her, twinkling.  "I wish I could remember."

"So do I."  She withdrew her hand with a serious look.  "Let me bring 
you some iced tea.  Take your pain pills and get a good night's sleep."

He smiled slightly.  "I think your son wants to see me dictate a press 
release to Miss Thompson."

Sarah sighed ostentatiously.  "Call her Maggie.  Daddy was right: you're
a member of the family.  And my oldest one is Jack."

"Okay.  Maggie and Jack."

"Tomorrow morning is soon enough to write something up.  I think you'll
feel a lot better."

He took a deep breath.  "All right, Sarah.  I accept your gracious 
advice.  Thank you."

"Oh, Bu-- Lou!"  Quickly she leaned forward, kissed his forehead and 
whirled away to the kitchen.


* * *


The sounds of kitchen activity awoke the family to a bright and sunny 
morning.  Lou rose and was last in the bathroom, taking time to shave 
gingerly, before dressing in casual slacks and a flannel shirt.  By this
time the smell of cooking bacon wafted through the house.  He appeared 
at the table with a hearty smile.

"Good morning, Jeff and the Martins!"

"Good morning, Lou!" they replied in chorus, returning his smile.

Sarah, spooning scrambled eggs into Jack's plate, smiled the widest.  "I
knew you'd feel better this morning.  I'm so glad!"

"Sarah, the true sibyl!" he responded happily.

"Maggie, set a plate for Lou," she directed.  "Jack, move over."

With a scraping chair Jack moved, asking, "What's a sibyl?"

"She who tells you what to expect," Lou explained with a grin.

"Like a mother?" said Jack in wonder.

"Most mothers are good at it.  Jeff, I think that's my guard troop's 
generator you can hear down at the end of your driveway."

"I was going to ask you about that.  They must've got here about first 
light.  Already put up two tents."

Jack looked around wide-eyed.  "Your guard troop?"

"If it's all right with your mother when you finish eating, how about 
going down there and inviting Bert Johnson -- he's in charge -- up to 
the house?"

"Of course it's all right," said Sarah.

Jack said thoughtfully, "He works for you?"

"For my family in Chicago."

"I'm done now," said the lad, standing up.

Sarah handed him her dish towel.  "Wipe your face."


* * *


Sarah remained in the kitchen, nursing her baby, while the rest of the 
family went to meet Lou's guardsman.  When little Joe fell asleep, she 
tucked him in his crib, listened briefly to the hum of voices on the 
front porch, and returned to the kitchen to clean up.  Maggie was the 
first to reappear.  She was excited.

"Wow, good looking men!"

"If that's so, I'm surprised you could tear yourself away."

"Uncle Jeff said you might need some help."

Sarah snorted.  "You flirted too hard, I bet.  'Men,' you say?"

"Two of them, Bert and Horace.  There's another one on duty at the gate.
They brought a kind of telephone.  There!  Hear that?"

She paused for an odd tone like an ongoing birdcall.

"I heard it earlier," said Sarah.  "What is it?"

"That's how it rings.  They brought up a line between the porch and 
their tents.  It's temporary until the regular phone lines come in.  
They also brought a typewriter."

"No joke -- a typewriter?"

"No joke.  I'll type up his press release on it."  Maggie grinned.  "Why
didn't you come with the rest of us to meet them?"

"Curious, are you?"

"Surprised too.  Is it your black eye?"

"Not really."  Sarah sighed.  "Guess I didn't want to see the world 
pouring in.  It's the start of him leaving me."

"Oh, sweetie!"  Maggie leaned in and hugged the woman at the sink.

Sarah accepted the gesture with a sniff.  "I notice you don't say it 
ain't."

Maggie sighed also.  "Listening to him talk to them, watching how they 
want to please him like puppies -- big guys in cops' uniforms ...  One 
thing's for sure: he doesn't belong down on the farm."

"I already know that."

The telephone on the wall rang.  "Get that, honey," said Sarah.  "My 
hands are wet."

Maggie crossed to the instrument and took up the receiver.  "Hello?"

She listened, said, "Just a moment," and glanced at Sarah.  "It's for 
Lou."  Letting the receiver dangle, she went up the hall and returned in
a moment to recover it.  "Who's calling, please?"

The receiver rattled.  She said, "Mr. Ronfield is not available.  He'll
have a press release later this morning."

Answering an obvious question, she added, "This is his secretary.  
Good-bye."

Hanging up the telephone, she looked at Sarah with awe.  "That was the 
Chicago Tribune!"

"A newspaper?"

"_I'll_ say!"

"I hope he told you he wa'n't available."

"He did, if it was a reporter.  Let me dry those dishes."

Sarah made room for her at the sink.  "You lived in Chicago for years.
Did you ever hear of the Ronfield family?"

"Sure.  They own a chunk of the city."

"Why didn't you mention it?"

Maggie shrugged.  "Guess I never thought to actually meet one of them."

"None of them came to your ... place?"

"The whorehouse, you mean?"  Maggie chuckled.  "No, dear.  If they 
wanted something, all the girls in town would go to _them_."


* * *


With the kitchen clean Sarah took her dust rag to the living room.  
First she wiped down the furniture then returned to mop up yesterday's 
tracked-in mud.  Maggie was in Lou's bedroom, taking his dictation of 
the press release while Jack marveled audibly over her shoulder at the 
"chicken tracks."

When Sarah finished the hardwood floor, she retreated to a rocking chair
on the front porch to wait while it dried, listening through the screen
to the sound of a stuttering typewriter.  The new telephone sat on the 
porch floor in an open leather case, its wire looped around a post and 
running off through the grass toward the drive.  The sun climbed higher
while the breeze dried the puddles in yesterday's wheel ruts.  She 
appreciated the fresh odor of the recently cleaned world.

The screen door slammed as Jack came out on the porch, bearing two 
sheets of typewriter paper.  "Hey, Mom: Lou wants us to prove this."

"'Prove' it?"

"That's what he said, or something like that."

"What is it?"

"His press release."

She took a sheet from him, a carbon copy.


[Begin Typewriting]
PRESS RELEASE: "An Adventure in Rural Ohio"
On the Martin Farm near Faresville, Ohio; June 8, 1938:

Mr. Loomis D. Ronfield, 24, a Chicago businessman traveling to St. 
Louis, was waylaid by escaped convicts and left to die in a field near 
here.  Rescued by Sarah Martin, he was nursed back to health despite 
being afflicted with amnesia.  Yesterday he recovered his memory while 
fighting with a would-be arsonist.  Mrs. Martin shot the attacker dead 
and saved her home from destruction.

On May 3, 1938, Mr. Ronfield was traveling alone in his automobile to 
take charge of the Ronfield Bearing factory in St. Louis, when he was 
assaulted by five convicts escaped from Grissom State Penitentiary, led
by the notorious Jesse McCollum, who remains at large.  They stole 
Ronfield's automobile and clothing, leaving him attired in a prison 
suit, and struck his head with a tire iron hard enough to produce 
amnesia.

Mrs. Martin, returning from Faresville by horseback, noticed Ronfield's
unconscious form where he had crawled atop a boulder, stretched him over
her horse's back and took him into her home.  She arranged for medical 
attention and nursed him back to health.  As he recovered, he worked as
a farmhand, a "pretty good one," according to Jeffrey Thompson, Mrs. 
Martin's father, who lives with her.

Ronfield might well have spent the rest of his life as a Martin farmhand
except for one James Dillard, recently released from Grissom, who forced
his way into the Martin home on June 7, 1938, with the intent to burn it
down.  Ronfield fought with him but was clubbed unconscious.  In the 
best tradition of a widow protecting her family, Mrs. Martin shot 
Dillard dead by discharging into his chest both barrels of her father's
shotgun.

When Ronfield regained consciousness, his memory of events before 
encountering the convicts was recovered.  The Ronfield family had 
offered a sizeable reward for information about his whereabouts.  Mrs. 
Martin will receive this reward.  Ronfield declares that she has earned
it absolutely.

Ronfield will continue his trip to St. Louis after convalescing as a 
guest of the Martins.
[End Typewriting]


"What does it mean," Sarah asked, "to _prove_ it?"

"I don't know," said Jack.

"_Proof_ it," said Maggie, standing behind the screen.  "Is everything 
in it correct?  Did he leave anything out?"

Sarah answered thoughtfully, "Nothing that's anybody's business."

Maggie cupped a hand to her ear.  "I hear a car."

They all listened: indeed an automobile engine could be heard from down
the drive.

At that moment the telephone on the porch emitted its shrill, enduring 
ring tone.  Maggie pushed out through the screen and withdrew the 
combined transmitter-receiver from the leather case.  Her thumb toggled
a switch while she said, "Hello!"

She added, "This is Maggie, Mr. Ronfield's secretary."  After listening
for a bit she said, "I'll tell him.  Thank you."

While returning the instrument to its case, she said to Sarah with a 
speculative look, "Lou's brother is coming up the drive."


* * *


Sarah scurried to the kitchen.  The gingerbread clock on its shelf in 
the hall had indicated almost eleven o'clock as she passed: time to cook
"dinner."  What and how much?  Dan Ronfield would surely eat with his 
brother.  What of the guards down the driveway?  With one ear cocked 
toward the front of the house she added wood to the stove and gathered 
ingredients for a meal large enough to serve even the guards.

Voices rose from the other end of the house.  Several times the hinges 
squeaked on the front screen.  She worked fast and efficiently, adding 
meat and vegetables to the remains of last night's stew, plus the pinch
of thyme carefully saved from the meal where it had pleased her father.
Soon her largest cooking pot was bubbling on the stove top and she was 
patting out biscuits to put in the oven.

Many footsteps sounded in the hall.  The whole family came into the 
kitchen, including Bud -- Lou -- and a large, strange man with a full 
mustache, wearing a brown uniform similar to a Christian County 
deputy's, though not quite the same color.  Would Brother Dan wear a 
uniform?

Lou was wearing slacks and a clean shirt from Tim's closet.  He did not
introduce the stranger.  It was Maggie who said, "This is Horace, Sarah,
one of Lou's guards."

Sarah managed a smile.  "Howdy."

The man nodded.  He had looked surprised when she turned to face him.  
That pesky black eye, no doubt!  Then where was the brother?

Lou also smiled.  "My brother Dan has arrived.  He tells me the 
reporters are gathering at your driveway.  We decided to give the press
release to that plucky local guy" -- he glanced at the business card in
his hand -- "Jeremy Halleck, if he answers his phone."

Sarah's chin rose.  "You didn't leave your brother on the porch!"

Jack responded quickly, "He's in the bathroom."

"He'll be along shortly," said Lou.  "Maggie, you can manage party 
lines, can't you?  Would you phone it in?  I'm going to sit down, if you
don't mind, Sarah."

"Please do."  Sarah sniffed.  "It's no use trying to keep you in bed."

Everyone took a chair at the table except the two women and the guard.
Maggie accepted the business card, took down the telephone receiver, 
listened and regarded Lou in surprise.  "Nobody's on it!"

"They're all cooking dinner," said Sarah, turning around to stir her own
stew.

Maggie jiggled the hook and said after a moment, "Mabel, this is Maggie
Thompson.  Mr. Loomis Ronfield is calling Jeremy Halleck person-to-
person collect in Taylorville at this number."  She read the number off 
the card.

While she waited another stranger appeared in the hall doorway.  
Clean-shaven, he was older, slimmer and slightly shorter than Lou, but 
the family resemblance was there.  He wore a seersucker Palm Beach suit
and a silk tie.

Lou stood up.  "Sarah, I'd like you to meet my brother, Daniel Ronfield.
Dan, the lady by the stove is Mrs. Sarah Martin, our remarkable 
hostess."

The newcomer, a smile on his face, hurried around the table to her.  She
released her stirring lathe and turned to face him fully, extending her
hand toward his.  To her surprise he raised it to his lips and kissed 
the back of it.  "I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Martin.  I 
understand you saved my brother twice."

"Hey!" cried Jack, starting to rise until his grandfather's hand pressed
him firmly back into his seat.

Though men had kissed her many times, Sarah could not recall one quite 
_there_.  She felt heat on her cheeks and withdrew her hand quickly.  
Unable to remember the response demanded by courtesy, she raised her 
chin.  "And I'll do it again."

If her black eye repulsed him, he gave no sign.  He stepped back and 
looked from her to Lou, smiling wider.  "I hope you've taught my 
impetuous brother a lesson."

"We've both learned a lot," said Sarah, recovering her wits.  "Glad to 
meet you, Mr. Ronfield."

"_Dan_, please!"

"Then I'm Sarah, Dan.  Are you the oldest?"

"Our sister, Lucille, was born first.  But yes, I'm senior to Lou."

Lou sniffed.  "Which he never lets me forget."

Sarah said with evident pleasure, "Your sister!"

"Yes," said Dan, "and like you, far prettier than her brothers."

"Ah," breathed Maggie with a grin.

Sarah's chin rose.  "I hope she don't have no black eye."

Dan coughed, hand to mouth.  "Not when I left."  He smiled easily.  "But
you never know."

Sarah returned his smile.  "I hope you'll take dinner with us, Dan."

"Dinner?"

Lou said, "On a farm the big meal is at midday."

"Ah, yes.  Yes, I will.  Thank you very much, Sarah."

"Won't you sit down?"

The waiting guard said, "Mr. Ronfield, if it's all right with you I'll 
go back to the gate."

Lou said, "You have the copies for that crowd?"

"Yes, sir, two of them."

"Then go ahead, Horace."

The man left the room.  At the telephone Maggie had apparently contacted
Halleck, the reporter.  She was reading slowly from the typed press 
release and often repeating herself.  Perhaps Halleck was making his own
copy.  Her free hand was pressed to her ear.

"We need to be quiet," said Lou.

Everyone but Sarah sat down.  All listened to the young woman's recital.
When she finished and hung up the phone, Lou said to her, "That was 
Halleck?"

"No, his boss."  She grinned.  "Halleck is in the crowd out front.  Did
I do right, reading it to his boss?"

"Yes.  The idea is to get the word out.  You did fine."  He stood up.  
"Dan, let's go back to the porch and let Sarah finish making lunch."

"Shouldn't you get back in bed?" asked Sarah.

He smiled.  "Maybe, but I think the porch breeze would suit me better."

Dan helped Lou when he stumbled into the hall.  Jack would have followed
them except for Jeff's admonition.  "Come on to the barn, Jack.  We 
about got time to fix that busted hitch."

With notepad and pencil in hand Maggie followed the Ronfields.  Jeff and
Jack exited via the screen door, which Jack closed quietly to avoid 
waking the baby.  A minute later Maggie returned to the kitchen.

"Lou said he wouldn't need me anymore.  Can I help you?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow.  "You don't sound like he fired you."

The younger woman grinned.  "I hope he means no more this morning.  Some
dried apples were left.  Why don't I make a pie?"

"Did you notice the time?"

"A few minutes past eleven."

"Okay.  You got time.  Go ahead.  You can put it in beside the biscuit 
sheet."

With Maggie busily employed, Sarah went to check on her baby, still 
napping peacefully in his crib.  Listening intently, she heard the 
birdsong beyond Joe's window and the unintelligible rumble of masculine
voices on the front porch.  Had brother Dan formed an opinion of her?  
Would he tell it to Lou?  Her curiosity became unbearable.  She toed her
slippers off and silently walked barefoot up the hall to hover at the 
screen door.

They seemed to be discussing problems in the St. Louis bearing plant.  
She was about to turn away when Dan cleared his throat and said, "When 
are you going to show me that love letter you wrote to yourself?"

"Who told you about that?"

"It's peeking out from under the bible on your bedside table.  I saw the
last two lines."

"Did you!  What did they say?"

"'Don't lose Sarah,' printed and underlined, and signed 'the man known 
only as Bud, who loves Sarah Martin.'  I recognized your handwriting."

"Apparently I knew or was told I'd lose my recent memory when I 
recovered the earlier ones.  So I wrote a note to remind me.  It's 
powerful, Dan."

"I'll bet it is.  'The man who loves Sarah Martin:' that's a strong 
statement.  But you weren't yourself when you wrote it."

"I think I was more myself than not.  Maybe I'll let you read it.  
Apparently I only lost the personal memories."

"Oh?  Can you remember your state of mind when you wrote it?"

"Nothing but a feeling whenever I see Sarah's face.  But I've talked to
Maggie.  She tells me how much the family accepted me -- especially 
Sarah."

"'Maggie.'  You do know about her, don't you, Lou?"

"Her time in Chicago?  Why do you ask?"

"Horace recalls seeing her several times in a lakefront brothel."

"Yes, she recognized him too.  It's clear she's not ashamed of her past.
This family's attitude toward sexual matters is more liberal than a 
Frenchman's."

"Have you talked to Sarah since your recovery?"

"Not much.  Maggie assures me Sarah has never been to Chicago, if that's
what worries you."

"That's not it precisely.  What are your plans, Lou?"

"We've already discussed that."

"You plan to stay here at least a week, you said.  But why?  I'm sure 
you could travel _now_, if you coddled yourself a bit.  The house has 
long been ready for you in St. Louis and I can get you a limousine from
Springfield in no time."

"What's your rush, Dan?"

"What's _your_ delay?"

Lou hesitated.  "I think you can guess."

Dan said quickly, "Surely you've noticed how she talks, how she 
dresses!"

"Is that important, Dan?"

"What it implies about the rest of her background and culture, if any, 
certainly is!"

"Culture can be applied any time."  Lou's voice was unemotional, 
expressing an obvious fact.  "Whereas attitude takes a lifetime to 
develop."

"Attitude toward sex?"

"Especially."

"Does your love letter comment on that?"

"Maggie does.  We sat on the porch late last night."

"Just 'sat?'"

"_She_ wanted more!  But we only talked in low voices.  Apparently 
Sarah, the widow, and Bud, the farmhand, were as good as married."

Dan said suavely, "Young widows are known to be eager.  Do you remember
any of that?"

"No, darn it!"

She heard one of them take a deep breath, apparently Dan, who said, 
"You're still very young.  I hope you don't do anything rash."

"Anything rash?"  Lou chuckled.  "When did you ever hear of me being 
rash?"

"When indeed!  Who ran off to the Mediterranean last year and splurged a
hundred grand on a sailing yacht?"

"Splurged?  I sold it for a hundred and ten."

Dan chuckled wryly.  "Nevertheless I think I've made my point."

"I won't do anything rash, brother.  I may even stay here longer than a
week -- if Sarah doesn't throw me out."

Dan said dryly, "I don't hold much hope of that."

Sarah returned quietly down the hall, ruefully acknowledging the older 
brother's right to be concerned.


* * *


Eating heartily, brother Dan praised the stew.  "It has a unique flavor,
Sarah.  I can recall no Parisian soup or casserole to match it."

"I shot the ducks for it," said Jack smugly while his mother smiled at 
the praise despite missing the geographical component.

"Ah, yes, the rustic hunter!  Do you often feed your family?"

"Sure!"  The lad grinned at Lou.  "This time I led them just right."

Dan blinked, perhaps from his own cultural limitations.

Lou said, "This time?"

"Oh, yeah, you don't remember.  Last time I missed."

Sarah sighed.  "He ain't supposed to take out the shotgun yet."

Jack smiled at her and said, "You gave me the idea," which caused her to
drop her eyes.

The baby in her lap pressed his lips firmly together and turned his face
away when she offered him another spoon of broth.  Bright eyes looked up
to her.  "Drink, Ma!"  His chubby hand rose, caught the limp collar of 
her front-buttoning blouse and pulled it down sharply, releasing the 
bounteous breast.  The nipple anticipated him with a trembling drop of 
milk.  He stretched up and his mouth closed over it.

She smiled at him indulgently and adjusted her arm to support him 
better.  "Mama's smart boy!"  Her smile took in the others.  "He's just
learned to do that."

She saw Dan's eyes widen and turn upon Lou, who winked in response.  
Didn't Chicago mothers let thirsty babes suck?

She said to Dan, "Will you stay for supper?"

"I'd love it -- if you serve more of this."  He shook his head, eyes 
touching her breast then flashing away.  "Regretfully I must return to 
Chicago."  Grinning slyly at his brother, he added, "All the Ronfields 
can't afford these bucolic pleasures."

Lou chuckled.  "Don't be jealous, Dan."

"Truly it's hard to leave such, ah, magnificent stew, but it's a 
five-hour drive, best completed before dark."  He turned to his brother.
"I brought the St. Louis organization chart.  Let's go over that before
I leave."

Maggie sat up straight.  "Oh, please wait and try my apple pie."

Lou's eyes twinkled.  "Made from the same recipe you told me about?  
Yes, Dan, you owe it to yourself.  Her pie's good enough to fight over.
Even the aftertaste is said to be fantastic!"

So Dan lingered at the table for a slice of pie.  When he had consumed 
the last morsel, he said, nodding to his brother, "Indeed all this could
make one jealous!"

Sarah said, "Maggie and me made up a picnic basket for Lou's guards.  
Jack, saddle up Ben and take it to them."


* * *


When Maggie said Dan was leaving, Sarah removed her apron and went to 
the front of the house.  The whole family gathered on the porch beside 
Lou as the brothers hugged each other and patted shoulders in farewell.
When Dan kissed her hand once more, she decided she'd never become 
accustomed to such treatment.  He said, "I'm sure we'll meet again."

"I hope so," she responded, staring into his unsmiling eyes.

A huge black Buick Roadmaster waited driverless before the porch.  Dan 
entered it, started the engine, waved and drove away.

Sarah said with a sniff, "He didn't learn from your mistake."

"Yes, he did," Lou corrected.  "Two guards rode down with him.  They're
waiting at the gate."

"Oh!  Then I didn't send enough rations."

"I'm sure they had their own."  Lou took a deep breath.  "Think I'll lie
down for a while."

"Good for you.  Come on, Maggie.  Let's finish up in the kitchen."

Jeff said to Jack, "Did you unsaddle Ben?"

"Yeah, and gave him a quick rubdown."

"Then come on.  Now's a good time to spread manure in the corn."


* * *


With the kitchen clean, Sarah drew water for a bath, realizing she had 
reached a decision without noticing it.  As she went through the 
automatic motions of refreshing her body, her mind reviewed the little 
she had learned about the real "Bud."  She sighed at his restraint, 
understanding that now as a wealthy man he was more the stranger than 
ever.  This new unfamiliarity inhibited her own desire to hold and 
cuddle him.  She shook her head.  She simply had to find out if they had
any future, even if only a few nights of pleasure.

Maggie entered the bathroom, drew up her skirt to expose panty-less 
pubes, and plopped down upon the seat.  The two women exchanged glances.

Maggie said, "Don't know what runs through me so fast."

"Iced tea, probably."  Sarah rose to her knees to scrub her groin.  "You
drunk plenty."

While her water rattled in the commode, Maggie cocked her head and said
with some emphasis, "I don't know how you do it!"

"Wash my pussy?  How do _you_ do it?"

Maggie giggled.  "I guess everybody does it about the same.  Ha!  Except
Bud."

"You liked his mouth, didn't you!"

"Well, yeah.  And he did me a real service.  But we weren't cheating on
you."

"And that wa'n't your fault, was it!  What is it you don't know how I 
do?"

Maggie seemed to avoid the question.  "You've born two babes so far, 
right?"

"Might as well say four."

"Four!"

"Two got here in what the doc called 'late term,' meaning they was about
full size but born dead."

"My god, Sarah!"

"One of them didn't have any arms."

Maggie regarded her aghast.  "No arms!"

The older cousin sighed.  "Tim spent two months in Cleveland that year.
I think Pa was the daddy."

"Your own father?"

Sarah studied her cousin's face but saw only prurient curiosity.  "Doc 
Spencer told me fathers and brothers are dangerous ways to make a baby.
Reckon it's true.  Of course I wa'n't trying for one."  She chuckled 
grimly.  "Never have _tried_.  What do you care anyway?"

Maggie took a rag from the waiting stack, wiped her hairy vagina and 
threw the rag into the sink to be washed.  "I was just noticing your 
belly.  Every one of Madam Belle's girls who bore a babe had mother's 
streaks up her belly.  You don't have any -- despite four births!"

Sarah shrugged.  "Just lucky, I guess.  Mamma was too."

"Your mother didn't have streaks?"

"Not a one."

Maggie took a breath.  "You're lucky in another way, too.  Or maybe I'm
just unlucky."

"About what?"

"Last night late I heard Lou get up and followed him on the porch.  He 
wouldn't even let me kiss him."

"You tried to vamp him, did you?"

"I admit it.  You said yourself he's not the same man."

Sarah whispered fiercely, "Damn you, Maggie!"

Now standing, the younger cousin raised her hands.  "I'm telling you, 
you got nothing to worry about.  He only wanted to talk about _you_."

"What'd you tell him?  And keep your voice down."

"About your life here.  Mainly how you got on with him."

Sarah thought a moment.  "I guess you told him about me and Daddy and 
Jack.  And Uncle Ted.  The doctor too?"

"Well ... a little.  But he didn't run you down for it.  He said ..."

"What?"

"Something like, 'I marvel that our rural culture is so liberal.'"

"What's that mean?"

"I asked him.  He said what it comes down to is he'd give anything to 
have a woman that willing."

"I don't ... understand.  Ain't we all that willing?"

Maggie chuckled grimly.  "No, we aren't.  Else Madam Belle wouldn't have
had any customers."


* * *


Dry from her bath and dusted with the remnants of body powder from 
better times, a touch of lipstick applied and the last drop of Tim's 
perfume behind her ear, she slipped into a cotton robe, changed the 
baby's diaper, perched him on her hip and went up the hall to Lou's 
room.  The door was open to facilitate the breeze.  She put her head in
to see if the man was asleep.

He was propped up on pillows, holding her family bible open on his 
belly, curly hair visible on his chest.  He was wearing Tim's ratty old
bathrobe, having apparently undressed after lunch.  His eye caught the 
motion and he looked up to smile engagingly.  "Sarah!  Please come in."

She entered part way.  "Can we talk a little, Lou?"

"Of course!"  His feet swung off the bed and he stood up barefooted.  He
was clean-shaven from early morning and disheveled hair concealed the 
wound in his temple.  Other cuts and bruises lingered on face and 
forehead.  Like Sarah, he sported a black eye on the left, now 
yellowing.  Dillard had been right-handed.

Lou gestured at the chair beside his bed.  "Won't you sit down?"

"Why'd you get up?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"A gentleman stands to greet his ladies."

"For courtesy?  But you're sick.  Get back in that bed!"

"Yes, ma'am."  Smiling, he laid the bible on the nightstand and resumed
his position on the pillows.

She took her seat with little Joe in her lap.  "What was you reading?"

"King David and Bathsheba.  But I think what I need is Shaw's 
_Pygmalion_."

"Last week we talked about you riding in to the library."  She shook her
head.  "You don't remember."

"No."  He withdrew an envelope from under the pillows and extended it to
her.  "This is yours."

She accepted the paper.  "It's mine?"

"Look inside.  It isn't sealed."

She held up a rectangular engraved form, colorfully impressed, and read
its top lines aloud.  "'Cashier / Field-- Fidelity Trust Company / Pay 
to the Order of Sarah Martin ...'  Good heavens!"

"Dan brought it to me.  From what Maggie told me, it ought to be very 
handy to you just now."

"Oh god, Lou!"  She took a deep breath.  "It'll save the farm, but I 
really hate to take it."

"I won't ask you why.  If you have one failing, Sarah, I think it may be
not valuing yourself enough."

"Oh, Lou!"

"But don't refuse this reward, Sarah.  You need it and you earned every
penny of it.  Tell me again where you found me."

She was willing enough to consider something other than the paper 
trembling in her hand.  "Beside the highway.  South of here it runs on a
ridge with an outcropping of rock.  You was lying shy of the edge, I 
guess where you crawled, just right for me to roll you on my horse's 
back.  It was getting dark, Lou, and threatening rain.  I almost didn't
see you."

"But you did.  Thank god for your sharp eyes!  And as you say you rolled
me on your horse, took me home, nursed me back to health and loved me.
I'm confident you saved my life.  More than that piece of paper, Sarah:
anything I have is yours."

His arm stretched toward her.  Though her head hung down, she extended 
her hand to clasp his.

He sighed.  "Why does that make you cry, Sarah?  Was it such a mistake 
to save me?"

Tossing her head, she flung the tears from her eyes, raised her chin and
regarded him steadily.  "It's not that, Lou.  I'd do it all again and 
glad to."

"Tell me what bothers you."

She took a deep breath.  "First I lost my husband to an awful accident.
Maybe I don't have to lose the farm, thanks to your brother, but now 
I've lost Bud too."

"He's right here, Sarah."

She nodded grudgingly.  "You look just like him" -- she flashed a smile
-- "especially with them bruises -- but it's not the same.  Lou don't 
know me."

"My bruises and our black eyes will fade.  I know you're a beautiful 
woman.  Bud is inside me trying to get out.  Help Lou know who Sarah 
is."

"She is -- was ... Bud's wife."

"His wife?"

"As good as.  Are you married?"

"Hell, no!"

"Does that mean you don't ever want to marry?"

"It just means I never met the right woman before."

"Guess a man like you has got to be real choosy."

"Choosy?"  He smiled disarmingly.  "The fact is I never thought much 
about marriage."

She wiped away tears with the back of her hand.  "Your wife will have to
come from the right family, won't she?"

"Yeah.  _Her_ family."  Watching her, he perceived the curious mixture 
of defeat and hope.  "That kind of thing -- family background -- seems a
persuasive argument to those who want to run your life."  He grinned.  
"But when I can keep tire irons away from my head, I run my own life."

"Do you, Lou?"

His face became serious.  "As to family background, just in the day or 
two since Dillard knocked the sense back into me, I've seen the way you
care for your family and I love it."  His head tilted toward the 
nightstand where her bible now lay, partly covering two sheets of 
notepaper.  "That love letter I wrote to myself, according to Dan, gives
me a darn good clue to how you treated me while I was Bud.  But it comes
down mostly to how you went out of your way to help me when I could have
died out there on that rock."  His eyes stared into hers.  "Sarah, you 
know you can have everything I have."

She wiped her face again.  "Bud ... Lou, I don't want your money, I just
want ..."

He lifted her chin with his thumb.  "You want what?"

She sighed.  "I want it to be like it was before your memory came back."

His eyebrow arched in contempt that twinkling eyes belied.  "You want me
ignorant?"

"You wa'n't ignorant!"  Her head tilted toward the nightstand.  "Just 
read what you wrote.  No.  I'll show you."

She stood up, laid the nearly nude baby on the foot of the bed, shrugged
out of her bathrobe and stood straight before him, bare even of jewelry,
chin high but cheeks reddening.  "This is what Bud loved, Lou."

His eyes grew round as marbles.  "Magnificent!"

She smiled timorously.  "Does that mean Lou could love me too?"

"'_Could_ love?'  Oh, god, Sarah, you get down to brass tacks faster 
than anyone.  Though you have the shapeliest body I ever saw, it's your
_attitude_ that is absolutely the best.  I admire it more --"

The baby had also noticed the mammary exposure.  He stood up, teetering
on the edge of the bed, stretched out his arms and interrupted the man's
passionate flow.  "Thirsty, Ma."

She caught the child up, held his mouth to a nipple and laughed, 
regarding Lou askance.  "To tell you the truth, I brought little Joe in
here because he might give me an excuse to flop my boob at you.  I saw 
how it shocked your brother at dinner."

"Dan likes inhibited and submissive women.  You'll see when you meet his
wife."

"When I ..."  Her voice trailed off doubtfully.

"Just look at you, the loveliest woman in the states and in Paris -- in
the whole world, I don't doubt -- with her suckling babe at her breast.
What a viscerally satisfying vision you are!  I want you to meet Mother.
She'll adore you."

Sarah shook her head.  "No, she won't, Lou.  She'll wonder why you 
didn't chose into money.  I ain't educated.  I don't know how to wear 
the fine clothes you're used to seeing on women.  I give my babies to 
suck at the dinner table.  Do they do that in Chicago?"

"No, they don't -- to their disadvantage!"

"When you compare me to the women back home, you won't want me.  I just
know it.  I know how these things work."

"You do, do you?"  His eyes twinkled again.  "Then I'll stay here and 
work on the farm."

"What?  No.  You are an important man.  Your mother must be beside 
herself with worry."

"I doubt it.  You'll be surprised.  Mother wasn't born to wealth either.
Come here."  He extended his arms to her.

She nestled against him on his pillows, babe still pulling on her 
breast.  He held her close and her free arm went around his shoulders.
He smelled and felt the same but the tentative kiss on her lips was 
unfamiliar.

"Bud, oh, my Bud," she cried softly, "why did you have to leave me?"

"Shhh.  This is too wonderful.  Just hold onto me."

The baby squirmed off her arm.  "Mamma, want Bud."  Large eyes stared 
unblinkingly into the man's kind face.

Lou grinned.  "Had enough, partner?"  His good humor transferred to the
mother.  "I think you must enjoy Joe's attention."

Sarah spoke softly, eyes lowered.  "Oh, I do.  And Bud's."

"Is that a fact?"

His arms pulled her higher, head ducking to the other breast.

His closing lips caused her to moan.  "Please do me good.  They're so 
huge and I need to be emptied."

But his face rose.  "Jesus, Sarah, did I really do this each day?"

"Yes, my love.  Did Maggie tell you?"

He chuckled.  Down went his head and he drank thirstily for a minute.

"Oh, god!" she murmured.  Her buttocks twisting in moist pleasure.

Little Joe watched the man's effort with interest.

Lou lifted his head and licked his lips with a sigh.  "How can we keep 
the world out, Sarah?  I'm surprised that phone hasn't rung off the 
hook."

"Probably because it's a party line."

"A silver lining in every cloud, eh?  In that case, show me how you made
love to Bud.  I might recall."

"Now?"  She looked down at the milk streaks on her belly.  "I'm a mess."

"I doubt it ever stopped us before."

"No, it didn't."  She smiled encouragingly.  "You're hard to stop."

The child yawned.  She rose and went to the door, unconcerned by 
nakedness.

Lou, still berobed, got lithely out of bed to follow.  "Mind if I carry
him?"

"Oh, Lou.  Do you like him a little?"

"He's a good-looking boy.  I don't see anything not to like."

In the baby's room he watched as she changed the diaper.  The air was 
warm and the back of Joe's head was a sea of ringlets.

He asked, "Do all your children have naturally curly hair?"

"When they're babies."

Joseph's eyes closed as soon as she laid him in his crib.  She turned, 
untied Lou's robe and slipped into it, whispering, "Lets make love the 
way Bud would've done."

He was already erect.  His hands lifted her hips.  Her legs rose to 
enclose him as he impaled her wet center.  She perched upon him as he 
stood upright, knees clamped around his hips.

"Oh, _god_, Lou!"  She shuddered violently.

He grinned with pleasure.  "Coming already, are you?"

"I wondered if I'd ever feel you again.  Take me to your bed."

Carefully he fitted her spread knees through the doorway and waddled up
the hall.  "You seem to like it this way," he noted.  "Did we often do 
it walking?"

"No, we didn't.  Oh, Lou!  This is a first time for me."

"I guess we're a brazen pair, fucking our way through the house."

"I love it!"

He lowered her onto his bed and sank upon her without breaking their 
contact.  She maintained her hold on his shoulders while her heels drove
his buttocks.  Soon his voice joined hers in exultation.

When her breathing eased, she murmured, "So good!  That's a journey I 
thought I'd lost."

"It will never be lost, love.  I have a question for you."

"Anything you ever want, Lou."

He chuckled in delight and said, "Truly you are unmatched, Sarah."  He 
took a breath.  "My question is, may I announce our engagement at din--
at supper?"

"Our --  Oh, _god_, Lou!"

"You said that a moment ago.  May I take it as a 'Yes?'"

Her deep kiss was obviously affirmative.  When their lips finally 
parted, he whispered in her ear, "One more question."

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"This answer needs a number."

"A number?"

"Yeah.  How many children should we have?"

She squeezed him against her breasts.  "Oh, Lou."


*END*

Contacts:
kellis@dhp.com
clairewillington@gmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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