Chapter 3: Retribution

Monday, May 16, 1814

All this Jacob contemplated as he wandered out his front door onto the porch that fateful evening. It was a warm summer night, though the air was heavy with the impending storm. With any luck, he’d be able to sit out on his chair and enjoy a sip or two of Culverin Mist, the very expensive and very aged whiskey that was his finest spirit. Instead, the ladies of Culverin House had different plans for him. He filled his shot glass with his whiskey, but then put the cork back in and set the bottle on the porch behind him.

“It’s been a long day, Jacob,” commented Abigail. She was the first out of the door and she had changed out of her dress into a simple nightshift.

Jacob smiled at his aunt, his second wife. Though she was now in her late forties, she was still a beautiful woman, and was as lusty as the women in the family half her age or less. “A long day, Abigail.”

She began unbuttoning her shift. “It’s powerful warm, too.”

“Powerful warm,” he agreed as she stripped off her shift. Her breasts were as large and firm as when he had first tasted them twenty years prior, and the rest of her showed little sign of aging or childbirth. She came over to him and began to undo his shirt.

Next out the door was Lizzie, also in her shift, which she immediately began to remove. She reached down and groped his stiffness through his trousers. “It looks like a long night ahead,” said Lizzie.

“Some stiffness coming on?” commented Abigail.

Jacob snorted and rolled his eyes and sipped his whiskey while assisting as he could.

The winner in the little contest turned out to be Charity, Abigail’s second daughter, who came out of the house onto the porch and pushed Jacob down into his seat. She was in a family way, but that didn’t stop her from stripping off her night shift, and then kneeling in front of Jacob. She helped him out of his boots and trousers, and then proceeded to open her mouth and take his shaft between her lips. Abigail and Lizzie laughed as Jacob groaned with pleasure, and they sat down in chairs to each side. They pleasured themselves while Charity suckled Jacob to fulfillment.

Afterwards, Jacob smiled down at the young woman. She was about six months along, but nobody was sure who the father was. It could have been Jacob, but Enoch had certainly been with all the women, as had Jethro, Jacob’s and Martha’s son. Charity enjoyed all their attentions. Indeed, one of the household jokes was that Charity seemed to believe that doing her chores involved pulling her skirt to her waist. She smiled up at him and asked, “Who’s in your bed tonight, Jacob?”

“Charity, you should know by now that I’ll be the last person in the family to learn that!” he replied with a barking laugh. “I might be the Master of Culverin, but inside the house I think I’m the Mistress of Culverin!”

Martha came out the door in her own shift, which she quickly removed. “Charity, it’s not as if you don’t get plenty of attention from the other men in this household. Now, move out of the way, you little wench!” As soon as Charity was out of the way, she turned her back to Jacob and settled himself in his lap, straddling him in reverse. “If you want to be useful, Charity, get that shaft straight and in a place I might enjoy it,” she said. Charity laughed and gave her father a quick suckle, and then set his cock at the entrance to Martha’s cunny. Martha took care of getting him into place. “Thank you, Charity. Since you took care of him earlier, I’m sure I’ll get a nice long ride out of him now!” said Martha. The others laughed at this, and Martha began moving on top of Jacob, who simply leaned back in his chair and enjoyed himself.

It was only after Martha and Jacob had finished coupling with Jacob spewing his seed into Martha’s juicing cunny that anybody noticed the man marching across the lawn towards them. Abigail said, “Jacob?” while pointing. Charity picked up her shift from the porch and pulled it around herself, and then passed the others their shifts.

Only Jacob stayed seated, staring at the man approaching. Somebody was waving around a sword and a pistol, and it seemed a better idea to find out who it was. He could dress after he killed him, whoever he was. After a few more seconds, however, Jacob realized who it was and stood up to confront him. Charity tried to hand him his pants, but he ignored her for the moment.

“Playfair, what in tarnation do you think you are doing?” A split-second flick of his eyes took in the approaching weather. The storm was getting closer; the sky was lit by lightning flashes and thunder could be heard coming closer.

Playfair marched up to the porch, stopping a few feet away. “Blasphemers! Idolaters! Fornicators! God will punish you! You will spend eternity in the Pit! You shall be cast down! Repent! Repent!”

“Playfair, have you lost your mind? I want you off my property now!”

“Blasphemer! Fornicator! You shall suffer torment for eternity!”

It went on in this fashion for several minutes more, with Playfair incoherently demanding the Culverins repent, and the Culverins staring in disbelief. Jacob managed to take his trousers from Charity and slip them on and motioned for the women to move away. If one of them could slip away, they might be able to find one of the boys, who could take care of this fool before he did something stupid. Meanwhile, the storm kept getting closer; it would only be a few more minutes before it hit the house.

“Playfair, you fool! Get out of here! What the hell do you think you are doing, waving a sword around in the middle of a thunderstorm! You’ll meet your Maker without my assistance! Now, get the hell off my property!” Jacob thundered, yelling over the storm.

That was not to be, however. Reverend Playfair continued waving his sword and pistol around, and the storm came closer. Suddenly, the most improbable thing occurred. Lightning came down from the sky, striking Playfair’s sword, which he was holding in his right hand and pointing at the sky. The unimaginable force of the lightning killed the preacher immediately, but it was worse than that. Even though he hadn’t cocked the pistol in his left hand, it was pointed in that instant directly at Jacob. The lightning set off the charge in the barrel, firing the pistol and sending the lead ball at Jacob Culverin.

The force of the shot slammed Jacob back into his chair, knocking him backwards. He was already dead; the ball having gone through his heart in an instant. The ball continued, out the back of his body and through the glass of the front window, only stopping when it hit a lamp in the parlor, exploding it. Within seconds the parlor was ablaze. Jacob’s blood poured out through the massive hole in his back, dripping down through the porch and soaking into the ground beneath. By the time the fire was put out, it had baked into the soil.

Nobody noticed the old man standing at the edge of the woods, there to collect a soul he was owed. He was disappointed, however, in that the soul he had come to collect was but a shadow of Jacob’s entirety. Much more had spilled into the soil with Jacob’s blood and had become part of Culverin Hill.

While Jacob had been confronting Reverend Playfair out front of the house, his eldest sons Enoch and Jethro were in one of the barns, but they weren’t alone. Their sister Mary was with them, and she was in the process of teasing them. Her dress was already off, tossed onto a hay bale, and she was slowly working on the buttons of her shift. Both Enoch and Jethro were slowly taking off their shirts while watching Mary closely. Blonde and blue-eyed, Mary was a truly beautiful girl, tall and regal in bearing, slender but with large breasts, and a mischievous look on her face.

Suddenly their sport was interrupted by a blinding light from outside and a monstrously loud crashing sound. The three looked at each other in consternation and stopped undressing. Next was heard the screams of women, and they all ran to the barn door. Enoch was the first out, and he stared at a veritable vision from hell. Lightning was crashing to the ground all around them, there was the smoking body of a man in the yard, several half-naked women pulling another body off the porch, and flames were flickering from the house. Enoch ran to the house, followed by Jethro; Mary stayed behind to dress.

As soon as he got to the porch, Enoch realized the body the women were pulling was his father. Enoch immediately took charge, pulling his father’s body off the porch, and then rushing into the burning house. He ran through the parlor and chased all the children out through the kitchen. Then he ran back to the parlor. He found Jethro kicking the windows out and throwing anything burning outside. They didn’t think they would be able to put out the flames, but they had to try.

The only thing that saved the home was the torrential rain from the thunderstorm. The damage was still considerable. The porch was destroyed, as was the parlor, and the roof over both sections burned through. The rest of the house was filled with smoke, and it would take massive cleaning and rebuilding to make Culverin House livable. It wasn’t until the morning that the exhausted family was able to stop.

Jethro, his face blackened with smoke, looked at his half-brother and croaked out through smoke-damaged vocal cords, “Enoch, what now?”

Enoch wiped his face, which merely smudged the blackness on his face, and then answered, “We need to bury Pa.”

Jethro nodded. “What about that preacher out in the yard? You want me to hitch up a horse and drag him out into the woods? Coyotes have to eat, too, just like Aunt Lizzie says.”

At that, Enoch got a hard look on his face. “No, that ain’t in my plans. Just wrap him up in some old grain bags for the time being. Right now, I want to get Pa buried. You take a few of the kids and start digging a hole in the plot. We’re going to have to move out of the house into the barns for a bit. I need to start on that.”

Jethro looked at Enoch for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

It was a long day. By early afternoon, Jethro and some of the others had dug a grave in the family burial plot, a spot to the left of the roadway down the hill. It could be seen from the house, without being obtrusive. Family members who had passed were laid to rest, with a marker from a stonemason in town in place for each of them. After giving everybody a chance to wash up and change their clothing, Enoch led the family service, and was thankful only his father had died or been hurt, and nobody else.

Abigail, Lizzie, and Martha pulled Enoch to the side afterwards. There would be time for grieving soon enough, but another problem needed to be solved first. Abigail asked, “Enoch, what do you plan for that fellow out in the yard? He’s going to start getting gamey in another day or two.”

Enoch nodded tiredly. By that point, he had heard what had happened on the porch and how the preacher from town had decided to save the family and how he had killed Jacob. “It’s too late to do anything today. I am taking him into town tomorrow and finishing this. One way or another, I am finishing this.”

Martha gasped, and Lizzie asked, “Enoch, what do you mean?”

“I don’t know yet, not completely, but I plan to finish this tomorrow.” Enoch shrugged. “Like I said, one way or another.”

Abigail looked at Lizzie and Martha, her fellow sister-wives. There was an unspoken conversation among the three, and then Abigail looked at Enoch. “Enoch, you’re the Master of Culverin now. We’ll do what you say, but I want you to go into the barn and get some sleep. You look awful tired. Get some sleep and we can talk some more tonight.”

Enoch nodded. “You’re right. We all need some sleep. Let the others know, too.” He turned and headed towards one of the barns, where he found an old horse blanket. He wrapped it around himself and lay down in some hay. He was asleep even before he managed to wrap the blanket around himself.

When Enoch woke, it was dark out, but several oil lanterns were lit. He looked around and found that the barn had been converted into a temporary home, with the animals moved out and some of the furniture moved in from the undamaged portion of Culverin House. Enoch also noticed that everybody had washed up and dressed in clean clothes, everybody but him. He still stank of the fire and his hands and face were still black with soot. Martha was sitting in her favorite rocking chair, rocking and watching over him. “What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s late, but it’s still Tuesday,” she replied. “You need to get out of those clothes and wash up.”

“Maybe later. I need to check on things.”

She smiled at him. “You know the rules, Enoch. This is the new Culverin House, at least until we rebuild the old one. Outside of the house, you’re the Master of Culverin. Inside,” she waved a hand around at the barn, “you’re just the Mistress of Culverin. Abigail, Lizzie, and I are in charge.”

Enoch snorted out a laugh. “Just so I don’t have to wear a dress. Alright, I’ll wash up and change. We got any water and clothing?”

Martha nodded. “All the comforts of home, assuming your home is a barn.” After Enoch climbed to his feet, she pointed out what had been done. “We’ve begun washing some of the clothing and hanging it up to dry. You can clean up over in the horse trough. I had some of the kids cleaning it up, so the water’s fresh, but cold. You’ll live. There’s a bar of soap there, too. You know where the privy is. The kitchen is now over in the corner. Everyone else has been sleeping or cleaning up. You’re the last one, Enoch.”

Enoch nodded. “Pa always said he wasn’t all that important around here. Now I guess I’m not either,” he said with a smile.

Martha asked, “Enoch, what are you planning to do?”

“Right now? I’m planning to take a bath. Want to help?” Enoch smiled at his cousin. Martha had frequently bathed Enoch as a child, and he had returned the favor when he was older.

“This isn’t a joke, Enoch.”

“No, it ain’t,” he agreed. Enoch began stripping off his clothing, but there was nothing sexual about it. It wasn’t a time for that. He didn’t say anything until he was down to his trousers. Then he looked at Martha and said, “It’s like I told Abigail earlier. We need to end this, one way or another. I’m taking that damn preacher into town tomorrow morning, and finish this.”

“One way or another.”

“That’s what I said, one way or another.”

Martha shook her head. “Don’t do anything rash. Don’t go starting something,” she warned.

Enoch finished stripping down to his skin. Some of the family members watched, but nobody said anything. Enoch looked at Martha and argued, “Martha, I ain’t going to be starting something. Something has already started. I am planning on finishing it.”

“Enoch, I want you to take Jethro with you.” Enoch looked like he wanted to argue, but his cousin held up a hand to stop him. “Enoch, you know I am right. How often did you back up your father on something or other? You might be the Master of Culverin, but you aren’t the only Culverin. Jacob used to say we were stronger as a family. You heard him say that; I know you did. Take Jethro.”

“I’ll think on it, Martha.”

“Enoch...”

It was Enoch’s turn to hold up a hand. “I’ll think on it.” He turned away and grabbed the bar of soap.

Enoch bathed silently in the cold water, rinsing twice to get all the soot and smoke off. When he finished, he found Jethro standing there with some clean clothes. “Your ma send you over to argue with me.”

“You think that’d be likely to work?” Enoch shook his head but didn’t reply. Jethro continued, “No, I just want to know the specifics for when we get into town.” He hooked a thumb towards the outside.

“You planning on going in with me, huh?”

“No, we’re planning on going in with you.”

Enoch raised an eyebrow at that. “Just who is the we you are talking about?”

“Willie and James.” Willie was the oldest son of Jacob and Lizzie, and James was the oldest son of Jacob and Abigail.

Enoch simply nodded in agreement. “Maybe so, Jethro, maybe so.”

Mary came over, followed by Faith, Charity’s older sister. “If you’re going, so are we.”

Enoch didn’t say anything, but Jethro protested. “Like hell! We ain’t taking no women on this!”

Mary ignored him, and said to Enoch, “I ride as good as you, Enoch, and Faith is almost as good, and we’re both better shots than Willie or James. You know it, too.”