Chapter 97: Limited Freedom?

by Kathy R.

Martha quietly administered a soothing ointment to Grace's injured posterior. Thankfully, the job was made quicker by the fact that the robe, though short already, was also easily pushed up out of the way. Martha liked working on the woman's ass. It was so bright, so white. White asses always turned Martha on, just as urinating on white folks always turned her on, but, now she couldn't think of that; now her mind was on other things.

Why, she wondered could Gary be allowed to take the women as he does, yet the rest of the girls were forbidden to the rest of the men on the farm? Grace's muscles spasmed as Martha's ministrations became heavier with her thoughts. "Sorry," she mumbled to the unusually subdued woman. They were in the doctor's office, him being in the city today, gave Martha automatic authority on any nursing/doctoring duties. Of course, if it were something truly serious, he'd be notified, but a case of haemorrhoids wasn't deemed an emergency.

She enjoyed her renewed status as a nurse. She thrived on it. She found herself edging towards being "on the inside" where she can learn more about the business of farming slaves/adoptees. She looked up from Grace's ass. She stared blankly at the far wall across from her. On the other side of that wall, about a hundred or so feet distance, was the nursery. The warehouse, so to speak, where the babies were kept for a month to be fed and cared for, until their delivery date came. "Grace," she began, still staring off into the distance, the young woman shifted in response to hearing her own name. "Grace, how far distance is it from here to the nursery?"

Grace, feeling much better now, shifted away from Martha. Looking from the negress, who was still staring blankly, then over at the wall, the general direction of the nursery, she responded with a shrug. "I couldn't possibly tell you that. I've never been good at math, so figuring distances eludes me." Martha shifted her gaze to her friend and saw the telltale pink of embarrassment forming on the white girl's cheeks. "Grace, after having your ass manhandled and mutilated by your brother, Gary and then the hemroidal bum tended to by me, the last thing you should be blushing about is your inability to figure distance. An inability that is shared by many people, I might add." Martha had to smile as she watched Grace's cheeks flare with renewed embarrassment over the terse reminders of all that had transpired that day.

"Grace, would you like to take a walk with me this evening, say shortly after sundown?" Grace wasn't sure she liked the conspiratorial tone of Martha's question, but knowing the woman really wanted to keep that baby, kept her from commenting on it, deciding to feign innocence instead. "A walk would be lovely, Martha. I accept your invitation." Grace really did love this business of quiet rebellion against her brothers. After a couple of dozens of years of being under their thumbs, and their father's before that, she was more than happy to take a stand -- a united and silent one, that is.

"Get up and adjust your robe. There's nothing more I can do for you here." Martha stepped aside so the injured woman could get up and sort out her garment, which had only been pushed up to her hips. "Meet me out behind the Main Hall. I'm feeling playful, but neither of our rooms will be a good place to have this kind of fun." Grace, now with her short robe properly settled into place, nodded and headed for the door. "And tonight, Grace, you will be sure to remember numbers." Her eyes widened. In surprise, or shock, at the stern authority in black woman's tone, Martha didn't know and didn't care, she only wanted to be sure that this woman knew that she was taking a serious part in her own plans to achieve her goal. "You don't have to do any calculations or figuring -- just remember final counts as they are dictated to you." Grace nodded and resumed her departure.

After a lovely interlude of "piss on the white woman", at the back of the Main Hall, Martha and Grace quietly snuggled together on the sun-warmed grass. Grace was snoring lightly. It was a delightful sound, a complement to the distance noise of crickets and cicadas, bees and birds. The only noise that Martha couldn't hear was the crying of babies. She never thought about it, but the nursery must be soundproof. The afternoon was getting late. It must be close to dinnertime, Martha thought to herself. She hated to disturb her sleeping lover, but they needed to keep with their usual schedule. Gently, she began to kiss Grace's cheek. "Wake up, sleepyhead. Dinnertime." She kissed Grace's cheek some more. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." She continued in a soft singsong. She thought maybe this was how mother's waked their own children.

Grace stirred against Martha. Eyelids fluttered, cracked open, then closed again. "I don' wanna go ta school today, mummy." Came the childlike reply. Martha sat up, knocking her friend aside and slapping Grace's nearest hip soundly. "Don't "mummy me". Get up, ya bum! I'm hungry!" Grace laughed and got up with Martha. They needed to head to the showers before sitting down to eat.