A New Birth of Freedom Ch. 02
Sally becomes pregnant with the Burbon baby. Yet again I gratefully and humbly acknowledge the help and support I received from Grand Master dweaver999 and for his permission to publish (see copyright notice at the end of this story).
Of course, I am solely responsible for any and all inaccuracies, errors and omissions.
The morning after their confrontation with Eve Burbon, Valerie and Sally were asleep in each other's arms, as Eve and her daughters Naomi and Nicky were up feeding chickens and horses, milking cows, composting manure, and doing the same chores they did every morning.
The breakfast Valerie thought she and Sally would buy the Burbons had long been cooked and eaten by the time Sally and Valerie appeared. Their apologies brushed aside, and after a massive series of hugs and kisses with Valerie's nieces (Sally being introduced as "a good friend", while the girls exchanged a very quick sideways glance), Valerie asked where Joe had gone.
"Out plowin'. Snow's let up, and I heard the trucks out on the road. Ya might be able to get to the Innerstate. The county got cellphones for the plowdrivers, so I'll call Joe and ask. Y'want breakfast? I can cook somethin' for ya."
"Just toast and coffee," said Valerie. "Sweetheart, what would you like?"
"Miss--Valerie," Sally hesitated, glancing at Valerie's nieces. They didn't need to know about us yet, and Valerie said to call her Valerie, she thought. She went on, "could I have a little more, oatmeal or hot cereal and coffee and toast, please?"
"Got Cream of Wheat, if that'll do ya," said Eve. "Don't got oatmeal. We grow oats, but they're for the horses."
Valerie looked at Sally, with a lot of message in the look. "Oh yes, perfect," Sally replied, and looked at the floor. She didn't stop looking at the floor until her breakfast came.
Eve said, "Naomi, make up some more coffee an' toast, and get out the Cream of Wheat. Make it with this mornin's milk, there's enough for another day. See if we have any sugar, an' if we do, put some in."
"Oh, Momma, why?" said Naomi, in her again-I-am-imposed-upon-voice, but started to work.
Like the sons and the vineyard in Matthew, thought Eve. She says she won't but she does anyway.
Sally thanked Eve and Naomi profusely when her breakfast arrived. When Valerie and Sally had finished, with Nicky washing the dishes, Eve called Joe.
"Hey baby, how ya doin'?" Pause. "Clear as far as the Innerstate?" Pause. "OK, Val and Sal are leavin'. Send ya their love, and they'll call us when they get home. Now you drive careful, ya hear? Love ya!"
Valerie would call with the details for Joe. They'd start once Eve knew her baby was coming.
Valerie fretted at the delay. She knew that trying to hurry things would upset the balance she had feared to hope for. But still she thought There's no difference between those who say 'some day' and those who say 'never'. Mike's baby, her baby, was everything. Nothing would stop her, nothing could stop her. Not now that she'd gotten almost there.
Two months later, February, four a.m., though it might as well have been midnight. The sky was black, the snow still falling, and Eve could hear the trees creaking with the cold. As she moved from under the duvet, the cold hit her like a punch. She took her robe and wrapped it around her, but it only drove the cold inward, and her breasts ached with it.
Stagger to the kitchen. Water and coffee in the percolator, percolator on electric stove, but don't turn it on until milkin's done. Get eggs and potatoes for breakfast; clean the potatoes and get ready to boil them, let eggs warm up as best they can, and later scramble 'em in with the potatoes in the half-acre frying pan. Get bread (baked only three days ago), slice and put in toaster. Juice from a bottle into glasses (cold enough in here to leave them on the table). Then put two new logs in the fireplace.
God, she felt sick. The room started to move around her. No, it was just the nausea again.
Back to the bedroom to dress, heavy sweatshirt over the bra she'd slept in, leave the long underwear on, ski pants from the thrift store, thick socks, and get the high rubber boots from the mud closet at the back (generations of chickenshit on the soles and beyond), and the Spider ski parka the girls got her for Christmas two months ago. Gloves, wool hat and her muffler, and off to feed the chickens.
She got the can full of dried corn, and walked out into the yard. The cold hit her again, and she staggered again. It seemed to be a permanent condition. The old thermometer on the wall said minus 10--felt like it. The chicken house smelled, but not so bad as the cowbarn would smell.
Feed them, make sure the water basin was full and unfrozen, look for eggs--five, not bad, breakfast for tomorrow.
Back to the house, out of the boots, walk in stocking feet to start cooking. As breakfast would be ready as soon as the cows were milked, wake Joe with a kiss (if bending over didn't start the nausea again). His grunts made her laugh.
"Wake up, honey, gotta work today."
"Oh dammit woman, five more minutes."
"No sir, up an' at 'em. Get ready for breakfast. If you don't want it I'll eat it my own self."
"Yeah, and puke it all over the front doorstep."
"You stop that, it's all your fault," she laughed.
"You said you wanted...."
"Hush your mouth, Joseph Burbon, the girls will be up any minute now."
"No way no how, they gotta be pried outta bed with a crowbar."
There was the sound of a door slamming, followed by "Naomi, you're such a troll, were you raised in a barn? Why do you always slam doors?"
"To wake up the lame and lazy like you, Nicola Burbon, girl slug."
"I'll slug your miserable butt...."
"Girls!" shouted Joe, "is this a house for people or for mules? Stop it now, get dressed and get ready!"
"Yes, father," replied fifteen-year-old Naomi, in her best dutiful-daughter voice.
"Daddy, she's such a pig," whined twelve-year-old Nicky, "you gotta do something about her, she always tortures me...."
"I'll sell you both and buy a new truck, if you don't calm down." It was an old threat, and only provoked laughter.
"Girls," said Eve, "get ready and come and help me."
Buttoned and zipped to the nostrils, the Burbon women walked to the cowbarn on the old farm Joe and Eve bought for unpaid taxes twenty years ago. Eve was the eighteen-year-old high school dropout and runaway, and Joe was the plodding younger brother with a day laborer's job. But with love and sweat they built this farm and this home.
The smell caused Eve to shudder. Even though she had intentionally avoided even her morning cup of coffee ever since her period didn't happen (and she was always regular; Joe said he set his watch by his wife), she couldn't keep anything down. She barely made it to the barn door. As a farmer's child and a farm wife she was used to barnyard smells. Even when pregnant with each of her daughters, it wasn't like this.
She heaved and gasped, and heaved some more. Only mucus and bile.
The girls had seen this before. Eve had assured them every time that she was fine. Eve didn't want them to know that Aunt Valerie's visit just before Christmas, and Uncle Tommy's homecoming from the Coast Guard, had made her want this baby, so late in life.
And Joe had obliged. Her thin body, still firm and hard with years of work; her small breasts; and even her belly, still showing some of the stretch marks from Naomi and Nicky--all of it was still the girl he married, the girl he loved. On her hands and knees on the bed, Joe behind her like a bull to a cow, their animal mating, her orgasms and her final collapse to keep his cum in her, to let it make the baby they wanted...this was what brought her here. And she wasn't giving it up. Even so, she mentally swore loudly at the first Eve for starting this.
"Ma," said Nicky, "is it always like that when a woman has a baby?"
Eve jerked up, shocked out of nausea. "What did you say?!"
"Ma, what's it like? Does a woman always get sick?"
"Who told you about this?"
"I got a book at school, but it really didn't tell me what I want to know...."
"I'm going to talk to the School Board about this...no, I won't." She remembered her discussion with Valerie. "Yes, baby," she said, "sometimes, but every time is different and every woman is different."
"Was it like this with me?"
"Sort of, baby, but I don't remember very well. You forget all about it the first time your baby smiles at you," she said, and smiled.
"I'm sure I was better than her," Naomi cut in.
"I surely don't remember, Naomi dear. Now let's clean the floor, get the manure to the pile out back, and start milkin'. These cows'll be fresh, and they'll be hurtin' soon."
The girls hosed down the concrete floor, shoveled manure into the wheelbarrow and took it to the compost heap, again and again. Eve got the old milking stool, and started in on Lally. Fingers, wrists and arms get a real workout when hand-milking. Eve had won a prize at the county fair three years ago, beating out several muscular men.
Eve said milking machines were for pansies, and irritated the cows. Even though most co-ops forbade hand-milking, the organic co-op the Burbons belonged to welcomed it, as long as the cows and the milk passed the most stringent biologic tests. And the co-op took the ten gallons or so that the cows produced every day. Eve was astonished that organic milk brought three dollars a quart; she saw only about seventyfive cents of that.
"OK, Naomi," she said as the girls returned, "you can do Bottsie."
Naomi took the new stool Joe had made, sat down with the pail, and started milking. "Nicky, bring me another pail when I get done with this one."
"She's always giving me orders," came the expected whine, "she hates me and I never did anything to her...."
"Do what your sister tells you, and stop the arguing! And bring me a clean pail, please!"
Pour pails into milk can, milk can ready for Joe to load onto the truck and take to the co-op. Wash pails in boiling water later. He'd bring home some bottled milk and cream on his way back from work. Their check from the co-op wasn't much, but every cent helped, with gas and diesel so expensive. Get fresh hay for the cows, and fill the watering trough. While she got in the hay and filled the trough, the girls tended to their horses.
She felt better with the fresh air outside. Back to the house, and cook breakfast. Joe and the girls tore into the potatoes and eggs and toast and juice. Joe had his mug of coffee, and Eve had some herb tea Valerie had sent her. Valerie, her sister-in-law, was studying childbirth to help a friend of hers.
Now if only this baby had the kindness to let her get out to the woods for the hunting season in November....
Two weeks later, Joe's old GMC was chewing up another transmission rescued from a junkyard as he drove to work. Now it was time to end the jokes about selling his daughters. All the vacations they never took, all the new clothes they never bought, all the repairs, re-uses, rebuilds, recycles--maybe now he'd get the new truck.
Joe's snowplowing had gotten him a job with the County as a general laborer, tote-and-fetch guy. It was year-round work with regular pay, not like construction, which came and went. And they had medical insurance now. The girls, getting born, had almost ruined Eve and him, and doctors were spared for ultimate emergencies.
When the working day was over, he drove over to Cliff Bastone's lot and looked again. Cliff still had the three-model-year-old F450 diesel with a plowing package, bright red.
"Cliff, y'aren't gonna believe this, but I think I want a new truck."
"Naw, I must be dreamin'. Maybe it was last night's meatloaf did it. Joe Burbon actually would buy somethin' new?"
"Cliff, now you know I wouldn't do that to a pal, buy a new truck. Now there's a three-year-old truck on your lot. You don't want people to see you got old trucks y'can't sell, so why not let me take it away? Thirty four five I'll pay ya, and you can have my old truck...."
"Now Joe, you don't want me to call Chuck at the Sheriff's office to come arrest you for attempted grand larceny auto, do ya?"
"Cliff, you wouldn't do that to a pal, would ya? Thirty five five?"
"Forty one, and that's it. And your old truck, I'll call the fuckin' museum to haul it away, maybe I'll get credit for a contribution."
"Thirty nine five, and I'll bring ya a bank check."
"Forty five, and you got a deal."
"Thirty nine seven eighty?"
"Forty, you crook."
"I'll bring ya a check. Is the tank full?"
"I'll throw in a gallon to get ya ta Pete's."
"OK. I'll be back."
So Joe bought the new truck next morning with the cash he'd saved. And it was three years old, so he saved his reputation.
After the bank and the gas pump (goddlemighty, four-thirty-five a fuckin' gallon for Diesel!), off to work, and after work to the hospital for the blood tests. And the sperm sample he'd agreed to give, so they could see if it would work for Sally. He promised Valerie he would do it, and Eve agreed.
It was a little less bad than he was afraid it would be. He never liked needles, but the blood draw was quick. The sperm sample was the hard part. He felt like some kind of pervert, jerking off into a little cup-like device. But it was finally over, and then home to supper.
The girls were home already, in the depths of homework. Joe pointed to the new truck, and told the girls that the guy he'd sold them to would be there in the morning. As they shrieked, he laughed, and Eve laughed, and they all had a good laugh before supper.
When the lab reports had checked out, Valerie called Joe.
"Joe, it's Valerie. Everything's OK. When can you come over here?"
"Hi Valerie, how ya' doin"? An' where's 'over here'?"
"We're fine, Sally and I send love to your women and you, and 'over here' is Memorial Hospital. D'you know where it is?"
"Nah, but I can find it. Your town's not so hard to get around."
"I'll pay for the gas and the mileage on your truck, and if the county won't pay you for the day I'll make it up to you."
"I'll leave the truck for Eve. I can rent a car for the day, that way you get only one bill and we got no figurin' out to do. I'll get the info about the deposit and let ya know. It'll be a cash rental 'cause we don't use credit cards."
"Joe, that's a great idea, but I can arrange the rental from here, just tell me which company and where they are."
"Great, Val. How's Tuesday?"
"Friday's better, if you can."
"OK, but Friday's payday...."
"I'll cover you until you can get your check."
"OK, Friday, but I can't pick up the car until seven a.m. That means I can't be to Memorial before noon."
"OK. I'll call you tomorrow to confirm everything. Take care."
"You too," and the call ended.
Valerie had to work around the Friday advertising production meeting at Delgrasi. This was a command performance. She couldn't not attend; she ran the meeting. She couldn't reschedule it, because the ads had to be in place with all problems solved that day. She could, however, make sure that it finished on time, and suppress any histrionics.
As Edward, the drama-queen art director, had succumbed to the charms and whip collection of James Whynch, editor of Mastering Magazine, and moved into the slave quarters in the basement of Master Whynch's home, the drama of these meetings had greatly abated. Still, if Whynch had denied Edward orgasm for more than a week, Edward did get a trifle petulant.
Fortunately, the meeting ended promptly at noon. Jamie Whynch must have fucked Edward raw last night, Valerie thought. She had told June, her assistant, where she was going and what she had to do. June could cover for her, as long as she got back for the very special meeting at five. The Colonel had invited her; she was to be the only woman present, and the top level of management and ownership would be there. Even the office gossip mill had been shut down on this one.
Sally should be ready, and should be prepared. Valerie had very carefully charted their menstrual cycles for months before the confrontation with Eve and Joe, because of Charles' orders and their required exhibitions. Women living together tended to synchronize their cycles, perhaps through some chemical signals. Sally and Valerie tended to be flowing together, and Valerie always listened to what her own body was telling her. Charles controlled them both, and Valerie wanted to be his best slave ever --and the best mistress to Sally.
Sally was younger. Both of them kept fit.
Anticipating today, Valerie kept Sally excited. She limited her slave's orgasms, tugged at her piercings at odd times, made sure Sally got plenty of sleep; she tried to keep the tensions Sally's business generated from affecting her. She took Sally to Mephisto's rarely, but gave her a good thrashing each time, and lots of hugging afterward.
Finally, she had removed the chain from Sally's labia that morning, and very carefully trimmed her mons, letting the leopard tattoo show clearly through the surrounding bush. Valerie made sure the gold stud through her clitoral hood had not irritated her.
Sally was waiting for Valerie, naked and on her hands and knees just behind their front door. Valerie lifted her, hugged and kissed her, and got her ankle-length down-filled coat. "Put on boots, sweetheart, it's mucky outside, and get into your coat. It's time."
Valerie took Sally down to Memorial, parked her Lexus at the far end of the lot. They entered through a side door. The security guard asked them to wait, as he called Dr Helen Waston to meet them.
As they waited, Valerie found Joe waiting in the lobby.
"Everythin' OK?" he asked.
"Yes, Joe, it's fine. Just drop off the car and mail me the receipt they give you."
"Your doc said they might need another shot if this one don't take."
"We'll deal with that if it happens. I can't just say 'thank you', it sounds so damn lame--Joe, I owe you for everything. God bless you!" She threw her arms around her brother-in-law and hugged him hard. "Ask Eve to pray for us--and to forgive me."
"No need to forgive, she don't have to forgive you an' she knows it. God bless." They exchanged a quick hug, and Joe left, walking to the rented Ford Focus, not looking back.
Helen was ten minutes late, and rushed. "Someone got enthusiastic with a riding crop this morning," she explained, "and I had some patching to do. Now Joe has done his thing, so it's time we did yours, Sally."
Sally looked down at the floor, a picture of submission. Valerie got even wetter than she had been. She was going to help Sally get pregnant with their baby.
Dr Waston led them to an examining room. Valerie took Sally in her arms and kissed her. Sally trembled. "Mistress," she whispered, "I'm so scared."
Valerie knew this, or something like it, was coming. She turned to Helen. "Please give me ten minutes to get her ready," she said.
"Of course," said Helen Waston, "the sample will keep. But I don't want to push it."
"Just ten minutes," said Valerie. Helen left them.
Ever since she had told Sally about the Ice Man, Mike Burbon, the man she had loved and who had been taken from her, Sally knew Valerie's obsession with having a Burbon baby. Submitting to Valerie validated Sally's life; she existed only to serve, to suffer if necessary. Every breath she took was Valerie's, not hers.
But this was the ultimate gift; not just her ovaries and uterus, but her entire body and soul, would make the baby Valerie must have.