The Awakening – Chapter 9 – Ethan

Monday, November 23, 1863

The bedroom door opened and Ancora entered, leading Ethan by the hand. With the numerous times they had been together over the months, this was only the second time he had been in her room. This was where she did her business. He was not opposed to being in her room. He just did not want her to think that sex was his reason for being there. It was the last thing he was looking for.

She walked to the far side and closed the window, allowing the room to warm up. She turned up the lantern to provide more illumination. He self-consciously closed the door, putting the two of them completely in private for only their second time. He looked at the bed. He could not help but wonder how many men had known her in it.

“So why don’t you have a room upstairs like your sisters?” he asked. He fidgeted with his hat.

“Cora is down here with me,” she explained, removing her wrap, “and Sarah has the room on the other side. Besides, there are only four rooms upstairs.”

He paused, knowing his previous comment had offended her. Their warm conversation had turned cold and strained. She glared at him without trying to show the anger just beneath the surface. Still, she appreciated what stood in front of her.

She had known Ethan Andrew Saunders since they were children. Fortunately his parents did not place much stock in the rumors of her family being descended from thieving, murderous gypsies. They had a good relationship with her father, Nathaniel, and therefore welcomed Renata and her children into their dry goods store. At six foot five he towered over most other men. His build was more on the slight side, but he had well-formed muscles toned by his family business. His hair was a straight light brown, and his square jaw perfectly accentuated his steel blue eyes. Despite the trend of the time, he preferred the clean-shaven look while his father bore the chin whiskers of his Amish heritage, even though he had long broken with that community.

He was little over two years older than her and never let her forget it, as if that short amount of time provided the wisdom of the ages. It was mostly friendly ribbing. He saw her demeanor change as she matured. Her childlike clumsiness had transformed into the female graces most men admired, despite her rumored history. About the time he asked to court her, she realized she had feelings for him as well. Still, she fought her Presbyterian upbringing to be distant and detached, despite her current profession. She found it harder to do as time progressed.

Tonight, however, she was just plain mad at him.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he apologized, “I just thought––”

“I’m greatly appreciative of your kind offer, Mr. Saunders,” she replied, trying to minimize the personal injury it had inflicted, “but offering to pay for my keep? How is that any different than purchasing me as a slave? Isn’t that what this war has evolved into? It started because the government tried to assert its dominance over state’s rights and now has evolved into emancipation to give the Union reason to continue the slaughter against the South, unrelenting until they have been completely decimated. Now they debate the passage of an Amendment to bring legitimacy to the conflict.”

“Ancora, I know of your disdain for the war,” he empathized, “and, yes, you would be trading one form of payment for another, but I do it with the most honorable of intentions. I do not wish to purchase you as my personal property, but merely seek to remove the need for other men to––”

“To defile me?” Ancora bitterly interrupted, “To use me as the whore I am? Dozens of men a week climb between my legs and use me, pounding my flesh, bruising my skin, mauling my breasts. You have no concept of the abhorrence I have for this conflict. Several prominent land owners could afford conscription to stay with their loved ones and tend to their business at home while my father, who could not afford the bounty, went off and died.

“Please do not attempt to lecture me on my pain,” she continued, “if my father were to walk through that door I would surrender this business in a moment and return to poverty if need be. I would gladly and willingly bear the entire brunt of his fury and the punishment for what we have become. I would do this for my mother and all my sisters. I would surrender my life … if it would bring him back. There isn’t enough soap in existence to cleanse the filth from my hands, my body or my soul.”

“Why do you hate yourself so much?” he asked, “And why do you hate me for wanting to make a better life for you?”

“I don’t hate myself, and I certainly don’t hate you,” she answered, placing her gloved hand affectionately on his chest, “I hate what I’ve become. I hate what I’ve brought upon my family with this business.”

“I remember it was a joint decision,” Ethan countered, “It’s not the best business choice, but you have done wonderful things by taking in other young women in much need of income. You think you are doing no good, but you are wrong. Edward Smith, Nancy’s father, came into my store last week. He brought his account current and bought goods from me for the first time in five months. He was not proud of where the money came from but I told him he had every reason to be proud of his daughter. She was making physical sacrifices for her family so they may survive, sacrifices that are no less important as those soldiers losing life and limb in their cause.”

“I am the eldest daughter,” she stated, staring out the window, “I cannot abandon my mother and sisters to this business, leaving them for a better life and still respect myself.” Ancora turned, “Could you pay for them as well? Purchase my entire household?” He looked sullenly at the floor. “I thought not,” she turned back to the window.

“You didn’t bring this upon your family,” he rationalized, “you have made tremendous strides to provide for your family in a most difficult time.”

“Yet I’m the one who makes it happen,” Ancora disputed, “the business flourishes because of me.”

“How so?” Ethan asked, “your entire family has volunteered to engage in this business. How are you alone responsible?”

“Because I am cursed,” Ancora spat, lowering her voice, “a curse I bear with my mother.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?” he said, softening his voice as well.

She looked at him. He could see torment in her eyes. She had to prove it to him.

“My mother calls it a gift,” she explained, “a gift we both share, yet mine is so much stronger and more difficult to keep in check. My sisters do not possess this curse and for that I am thankful.”

“A gift, a curse, which is it?” Ethan asked.

Ancora started a slow pace around the room, “Haven’t you ever wondered,” she asked, “why we are never at a loss for customers? Are we that much better than our competition? Or have I given us an unfair advantage? Why is it men are willing to pay many times more for our services? Are our ladies more fair and appealing or do I make them appear that way?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ethan surrendered, “I can attest I find your beauty more alluring than any other woman I have ever known. How is that a curse?”

“If it weren’t for me working my magic we would have failed within the first four months,” Ancora admitted, “we would have been cast out and our land would now bear the Williams brand.”

“Magic,” Ethan scoffed, “are you now believing the idle gossip of bitter families that you are a gypsy witch?” He could tell by her look she found no humor in his remark.

“For the sins I bear why should I consider myself any less?” she stated.

“What sins? What curse?” he yelled.

She turned, facing him squarely, “I shall show you my curse,” she said, “I fear it will irrevocably damage our relationship, but I would rather you remain, knowing the truth, than continue living with things unspoken between us.”

As undressing could only be done in the proper order, she gently removed her hat and placed it on the dresser. After pulling a few pins from her hair, she gave her head a shake and the entire black mass fell down and flowed around her shoulders. Having only seen her dressed for public, it was completely out of character to see her in her home condition, as he had seen his mother countless times over his life.

Ancora removed her gloves and dropped them on her dresser. Reaching to her waist she unhooked her petticoat, reached around to the back of her waist and, delicately one at a time, pulled at the cords that tied her over-petticoat, hoop skirt and under petticoats to release the ribbons. With a shake of her hips, all of it, in one silky accord, slid down her legs to the floor. His eyes followed the falling garments. Her chemise came down to her knees, but her bare calves below were exposed, down to her shoes. She saw his eyes grow large as she reached to her bodice and started unbuttoning it.

“What are you doing?” he asked, “Why are you disrobing?”

“I am a whore,” she declared, “you have paid for my company this night and you are going to take me.”

“I shall do no such thing!” he defied, “I will not allow, what I consider a sacred act, to be belittled by your vulgar attitude.”

He stoically watched her unfasten–one by one–the line of buttons that held her bodice closed. With a shrug of her shoulders, it fell to the floor. Now clothed only in her chemise and corset, she moved to her wardrobe.

Ancora knew he was a man of honor and conviction. He paid for her company and companionship on his visits, not her body. He was not going to be persuaded merely by her voluptuous form and exposed flesh into giving into her crazed demands. She needed to force him to take her.

“You wish to profess your love to me, your desire to make me respectable again?” she asked, grabbing a dagger from her bureau. He eyed the long blade with considerable concern. She approached him to an uncomfortably close distance, almost backing him to the wall. She flipped the blade over in her hand and presented the handle to him.

“Prove your love,” she demanded, “take this dagger and carve your love in that tree so I may see it out my window for all time.”

He could tell she was serious. He slowly took possession of the blade and considered his actions. Realizing this may be the defining moment in their relationship, he moved toward the door. She put her hand on the door and stopped him.

“Do it naked,” she ordered.

He looked at her as if her last shred of sanity had left her, “I shall do no such thing!” he again refused.

“Oh yes you shall my love!” she countered, pressing forward against him. His breathing became labored as the blessed warmth of her skin crept through his clothing. He stood head and shoulders above her. She looked up into his eyes, her flowing hair framing that beautiful face of hers. “And when you return, you shall take me, mercilessly and without tenderness.”

“I would rather die!” he retorted.

Of all the things he anticipated her doing, slapping him across the face was the last thing he expected. He had been in fistfights before, but her hand was swift and strong, stinging his face with a heat he had never experienced. Before he could recover, the other hand landed a blow on the other cheek even stronger than the first. He was in such shock he could hardly react. The look in her face was pure fury. He was gazing upon utter insanity.

He could see her preparing another blow. This time he caught her wrist just short of his face. The other hand came back up and landed a third blow he could not deflect as he was still holding the dagger. She slapped him a fourth time, harder than all the others combined. His head was spinning. He could see the contempt in her eyes. He was blinded by fury. He heard screaming … his own voice.

When the rage cleared from his vision, he had her by the throat, the blade pressed to her breast, already penetrating her corset. They were on the other side of the room and she was fast against the wall. His knee pinned her chemise between her legs, preventing her from moving. He squeezed her throat tight enough to distend the veins from her neck. Tears ran down her face. She extended her neck for him.

“Do it,” she demanded through his choking, “end my torment.”

He could not believe what he had almost done. He dropped the dagger and backed away, releasing her. His handprint remained visible on her throat.

“I would plunge it into my own heart before I could bring myself to do such a horrendous act,” he staggered back, leaning against her bed. His hands shook realizing how close he came to ending her, “your demons are deep, but I cannot–and will not–accept that the woman I love is cursed.”

She stepped away from the wall, “Let me show you the depth of my curse,” she said without emotion. Moving to her lantern, she retrieved a lighting stick. She held it to the flame until it caught, then went to a candle and lit it.

“These candles are simple beeswax and paraffin, some lavender and mint,” she explained, “but it’s the other ingredients that make them special. Breathe deep and feel their effect. Here begins your journey.”

She lit a second, third and fourth candle. The room permeated with its scent. It added a pleasant atmosphere to the room. He had heard others talk of how all the girls had candles in their room. They were meant to calm and cleanse the soul, but it was rumored they had magical properties to coax a higher coin from the customer’s pocket.

His previous visit to her room she did not light her candles and for good reason. As he inhaled their pleasant aroma he felt his anger dissipate. He even managed a smile as he eyed her round derriere moving beneath the chemise on her way back to the other side of the room. She tossed the burned stick onto a tray.

She sauntered over to him, getting so close he leaned back against her bed, and she pressed between his parted legs. She turned and pulled her long black hair over her shoulders, exposing the ties of her corset. Without hesitation he started unlacing her. With each pull his desire grew. Finally the laces fell free. Unbound from the corset, Ancora moved forward and slid the garment off her shoulders. It joined her discarded bodice on the floor.

She retrieved a small bottle from her bureau and returned to him, again moving uncomfortably close between his legs. She pulled open the top of her chemise enough to expose the tops of her bosom. Just out of sight moved the heavenly globes of her breasts. The outline of her nipples were plainly visible pressing against the thick linen. He longed to look at her naked body, but he resisted. She was well versed in her craft but he was resolved to keep their relationship pure.

Ancora pulled the cork from the bottle and placed it under his nose. He inhaled the wonderful honeysuckle scent. She smiled. He looked in her eyes, wondering where this was going. She looked out the window. From their position the tree was perfectly in view.

“There,” she instructed, “just above the first knot. Go carve your love for me, and do it naked.”

She returned to his eyes.

“I shall not,” he defiantly said in a calm voice.

She knew he would not acquiesce. She took his finger and covered the small bottle opening, upended it and put a small amount of perfume on his finger.

“Oh yes you shall, my love,” she said, “this is my curse. Press the perfume between my breasts and inhale the scent deeply. You shall lose yourself to me and become mine. You will not be able to refuse me. You will not disobey me. You will carve your love for me in that tree, you will do it naked, then you will come back and take me with all the force and anger I unleashed upon you.”

He sniffed his finger. It was merely a honeysuckle perfume. He took that dare. He moved his hand between her breasts. She grabbed his wrist.

“If you wish to stay with me, if you wish to love me, you must see the real creature I am,” she added, “I am selfish, ugly, vulgar and vain, unworthy of love.”

“I see a different creature,” he countered, “I see an utterly beautiful, selfless, caring sister who would put herself between her family and any harm that would befall them and fight with tenacity any army would fear. I see a tender loving woman who has been driven by a merciless and senseless war to withdraw into a shell merely to survive, closing your heart to the love I wish to share.”

“Then see which one I truly am,” she released her grip.

Without hesitation he pressed his finger between her breasts and slowly moved it down her warm, soft skin. He could see the trail the perfume left, the first time he had touched her in such a private area. Once done, he reached up with both hands and cradled her breasts through her chemise. He moved his face between them, inhaling deeply.

She turned her head away, tears rolling down her face. Their fate was sealed. She knew this would be their final act, and she would never see him again. He took a second breath, then a third. She had to force herself back from his strong grip. His eyes were dilated and pitch black. She could see his inner conflict as the perfume took control but she already knew which would win. Her recipes were too powerful to resist.

Moving away from him, she walked to the window and motioned to the tree.

“I have commanded you. Do what must be done,” she ordered, “DO IT!”

She heard him move off the bed. She could hear his clothes being pulled off. Moments later the door opened and he was gone. She turned to look. The dagger was gone and his clothes lay discarded on the floor. Isabella and Martha stood in the doorway staring at her.

“We heard yelling,” Isabella said softly.

Martha could not help but stare at the naked male rear that walked toward the front door.

“Mr. Saunders is professing his love to me,” Ancora said through a forced smile.

“Then why are you crying?” Martha asked.

“Because some lessons are painful to learn,” Ancora replied.

Isabella noticed the candles and nudged her sister in the side. Martha’s eyes flew open.

“YOU DIDN’T!” Martha screamed, scowling at the perfume bottle in her sister’s hand, “HOW COULD YOU? If there was ever a man who truly loved you, it was him.”

“Better to break my heart than his,” Ancora calmly replied, “he is honorable and just. I am not worthy. Now, if you’ll take your leave, I must prepare for his return.”

Isabella nodded silently and moved to pull the door shut. Martha stood firm, fists and teeth clenched, shaking her head at her sister. She had always looked up to Ancora’s wisdom, the one sister she trusted for good advice and firm resolve. It was all gone. Isabella calmly put her arms on Martha’s shoulders and guided her out, pulling the door shut.

Ancora looked out the window and saw her naked Ethan carving into the tree just above his head. His well-formed backside and muscular thighs caught the air in her chest. She had never noticed how muscular he was. Given his shared ownership of the dry goods store with his parents, she knew he routinely moved heavy parcels, but this took her breath away. It was a shame it was the perfume that was going to control his actions, but he needed to see her sins.

With his carving done, he drew back, stabbed the dagger into the middle of the heart above her name and headed back toward the house. He had driven a good length of the blade into the tree. In the dim light she could just make out ANCORA beneath the blade. She heard the front door slam. Girls gasped as his naked form moved through the parlor. Her door flew open, slamming against the wall, and there he stood. His eyes were wide with lust, his brow dripped with sweat. He was here to fulfill the second part of her command. She stared at his muscular arms and chest. He was a chiseled Adonis.

Without closing the door, he advanced on her. Ancora instinctively brought her hands up to defend herself as he grabbed her chemise. She felt it pull tight. Material ripped over and over, finally falling from her body in tatters. He picked her up and threw her on the bed. She had brought this onslaught upon herself, and she deserved what was coming.

He quickly moved onto the bed over her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them forcefully over her head. His legs forced hers apart. He was substantially stronger than her. She could not have stopped him had it been her dying wish. He moved between her legs and pressed his hardness against her sex. Her opening yielded as he positioned himself at her entrance. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. Her breath caught in hitches as she sobbed. She waited for the thrust but it did not come. She panted heavily but he did not move.

Slowly opening her eyes she looked up at him. He was poised over her, gazing upon her. His body glistened in the candlelight from the sheen of sweat. Ancora had never felt so naked. Her heaving breasts were inches from his chest. Her legs were splayed wide and she could not have stopped him had he decided to press in. He just stared down at her, his breath hot on her. Oddly, his pupils were no longer dilated. They should still be black as pitch.

“I have known you since you were ten, and loved you from that first moment,” he tenderly said, “do you think, after watching you grow into a woman and finally gathering the courage to court you and carry on these last six months, I would not accept any sins that may curse you?”

There was softness to his voice, yet he said it with a forceful determination she had never heard him use.

“Any man may have you,” he said, “only I can love you. The only demon I want inside you … is ME.”

Before she could respond he was gone. Her fingers tingled as the blood flow returned. Outside the door, he barked orders, the other girls screaming. Isabella and Martha came rushing into the room, fearful of being whipped. Ancora raised herself to her elbows.

They hurriedly grabbed the candles without acknowledging their oldest sister, blew them out and quickly took them from the room. Ethan returned with a wash basin. He dropped it to the table, sloshing its contents. Isabella quickly exited and closed the bedroom door with a giggle.

He retrieved a cloth from the basin, gave it a quick squeeze, leaving it mostly dripping. Standing over her, he squeezed warm water onto her chest. He eased her back to a prone position. He washed her entire body: Neck, chest, breasts, belly, thighs, sex and legs. He returned it to the basin for a second pass. This time he squeezed it dry, removing most of the water. Retrieving her shredded chemise, he patted her dry. She lay in silence, still trying to understand what had happened. Never in her life had a man been able to resist her perfume … NEVER. Why had he not plunged into her as she had commanded? Why were his eyes normal?

Satisfied all remnants of her perfume had been removed, he again moved onto the bed. She did not resist when he moved over her. She again surrendered to him and put her arms over her head. He took them lovingly in his embrace and moved his lips over hers. The kiss started slow with an underlying passion that did not remain hidden long. It quickly grew. Her head moved as she moaned, their tongues intertwining, lips sliding against each other. She could smell his manly scent yet none of hers.

In the midst of their kiss he moved inside her. If Ancora had tried to deny her excitement, the evidence would have branded her a liar. It was almost embarrassing to her. He filled her and kept filling her. Her eyes shot open as he continued to kiss her. She finally felt his pelvic bone against hers. Never had she been filled so much. No sooner than he was in her, he slowly withdrew. She broke her hands free and reached to grab his hips. She yanked hard to pull him back inside. In moments she was panting as they moved together in rhythm.

She wanted to release a stream of foul language, habit to entice her paid lovers to take her hard and finish quickly, but in reality she was only able to emit muffled whimpers. She had never felt this way before. Her entire being moved with him. She grabbed him by the chest and flipped him over. Still inside her, she rode him like a prize stallion as she bucked on him. Leaning forward he grabbed her breasts as they kissed again. She wanted it to go on forever, but she had a much more urgent need. She needed to seal their union.

“Fill me,” she cried. As their tongues danced on each other and they panted, she felt him grow inside her. She felt her own climax approaching. Her sex spasmed as he filled her. It was another first as she had never climaxed with a man inside her, much less at the same time. But there was so much more than just the physical bond. He was her man … and she was his.

As their movements slowed, their panting breaths trying to catch up, she came down from the exhilarating feeling. Now, a new feeling overwhelmed her. She felt pain. Something she had never felt before. She sat up with a worried look on her face. He stared back, sharing her concern. Her heart ached that it was over. She would not admit, even to her sisters, she had fallen in love. Six months of courting and it was her that had given in to him.

She moved down to lay on top of him in a cuddle, keeping him inside her. He wrapped his arms around her and she felt safe, as if nothing could ever hurt her again. She closed her eyes and listened to his chest rise and fall with each breath. She ran her finger over his chest hair.

She caught her reflection in the far mirror on her bureau.

“You wanted something good,” she commented, “was that good enough?”

* * *

Hours passed. Isabella and Martha sat in the parlor, studiously keeping an eye on Ancora’s door. They were both happy the night was quiet of guests. Her room had been silent for a long time. Finally it opened and they pretended to busy themselves with other affairs.

Ethan Saunders and Ancora Simmons exited the room, the perfect vision of proper period fashion. She was back in her green gown, all the material falling perfectly into place. Her bodice was closed to her neck, her hair perfect. She shielded the swell of her abundant bosom with her fan.

Mr. Saunders was every bit as much the well-respected business owner, dressed in his Saturday evening finest. Ancora was on his arm as she showed him to the door. He gently kissed her hand and said he would return within a few days. With that, he was gone. Ancora closed the door and paused for several seconds. Waving her fan, she moved to join her sisters on the parlor couch, almost dancing as she sauntered side to side.

They both suppressed giggles as she sat between them, absentmindedly fanning her face.

“I think that is a first,” Isabella said to Martha around her sister.

“What would that be, sister dear?” Martha playfully responded.

“The perfume didn’t work on him, it worked on her.”

They both chuckled. Martha reached down and lifted Ancora’s petticoat ever so slightly to gaze upon her bare leg. She covered her mouth and suppressed a giggle.

“You are not properly dressed,” Martha chastised, “you are shiftless.”

Isabella gave out a faux scream as Ancora smacked her with her folded fan.

“There was not enough of it left to wear,” Ancora tried to say with a straight face, “I dare say it would now make a good number of cleaning rags.”

“I fear our sister has found her man,” Isabella teased.

Ancora was going to admit nothing but could not suppress her own smile. They all dissolved into laughter. Martha smiled quietly at her sister. Ancora had taken a huge gamble and come out victorious as only she could. It re-solidified Martha’s belief that her sister had wisdom well beyond her young twenty-two years. Ancora met her gaze and smiled as well, acknowledging her younger sister’s understanding. She had not been able to foresee the outcome and was most fortunate. Ancora looked up and saw her mother smiling down on her over the railing. Her daughters were laughing.

It had been a long time.

A long time indeed.

And yet, as Renata looked upon her oldest daughter, she could see a decision had been made. Her daughter had every right to be happy and make a life of her own. She wondered if Ancora had bothered to inform the good Ethan Saunders that, even though she continued entertaining guests, she had found alternate ways to please them and had not allowed a single man to enter her body since they started courting.