Chapter 12

Ramona had entered the house with a lot on her mind. She'd been thinking about what she and her children had talked about the night before. She'd been thinking about what Renee had said. And, most lately on her mind, she'd been thinking about what she and Robert had just done, right next door. Robert had a singular way of trying to convince her that grasping women should be the least of her worries. His soothing voice had come with soothing hands and, like she always did when she was around him, she was soon panting with passion as he casually undressed her.

Then he had made love to her with his mouth, all over her body, driving her to distraction by bringing her close to an orgasm, but always pulling back before she got there. Somehow he had gotten naked while he did this, and when he stood to show her what she did to him he smiled. He had placed his open hand under his balls and that magnificent penis, like he was holding it, about to lift it away from his body to present to her.

"This is yours, Rami. It has no purpose but to pleasure you and give us children together. If you do not want it, then it shall lie unused for the rest of my life. You are my love, and I want no other."

She had burst into tears of mixed joy and hope and frustration that she couldn't just be like any other woman and love him and be allowed to love him. He had mounted her, somehow knowing that she wanted him and stroking her until her tears stopped flowing. She confessed her own love for him again and though they had done this many times, it was like the first time for her. He was gentle and brought her to an orgasm that was like being suddenly dipped in warm water when it's freezing outside. Then he came in her, flushing her full of warmth deep inside too.

Ramona's face got hot as she looked around the kitchen to see if her children were there, where they could see her reaction to remembering what had only happened thirty minutes ago. But they weren't there and it was quiet in the house.

Ramona went to her bedroom to change panties - the ones she'd put on for work this morning were no longer suitable to be worn in public - and she had to pass her daughter's bedroom on the way. The door had been carelessly left open and she saw the still forms of her son and daughter clasping each other under the light sheet.

Had Ramona not been in the afterglow of her own sexual release, and had not her brother taken from her the burden of worry and fear that had been laid upon her by her friend, she might not have reacted to what she saw in the way she did.

She stepped into the room and leaned over her children, seeing that they were both asleep. Their faces were beautiful and peaceful in repose and she reacted to that like all parents do when they see their sleeping children. There was an upwelling of love in her heart. She noticed their bare shoulders, and understood without having to look under the sheet that they were naked together. But she and Robert had just been naked together too. While she KNEW how that felt to her, she also knew of the difficulties that siblings could suffer when they had that kind of relationship. The world was a harsh and unforgiving place for siblings to be in love in. Before this moment she had been teetering toward trying to convince her children that what they felt was a dead end, and not worth the pain and stress of keeping it alive.

But, what had just happened between her and Robert was so powerful that she also knew that whatever means she tried to use to keep her children apart ... it would fail.

She didn't wake them. Instead, she turned on her heel, did what she had come there to do, and went back to work.

That afternoon, Robert Ellsworth Nettleton appeared in court, where the last of his legal issues was brought to settlement. Robert, by use of well paid and experienced experts, showed beyond any doubt that the claims against his estate for "services rendered" were frivolous and without merit. The gavel sounded repeatedly as the ambulance chaser hired by greedy businessmen to plunder the Nettleton fortune sagged lower and lower into his chair. He had enjoyed visions of a hefty income, based on thirty percent of what he anticipated "recovering" for his clients. He had already spent those hundreds of thousands of dollars in his mind. He had thought that, when the judge scheduled all six cases for one hearing, that the judge had already decided to grant all his claims. Why else would a judge try to do that much business all at the same time? Instead, he began to wonder if he would still have a job when he went back to the city and reported complete failure. He berated himself for filing these cases in a jurisdiction that was in the middle of nowhere. He should have known not to let this hick judge hear these cases.

"Mister Cochran." barked the judge when it was all over.

The lawyer stood and looked up at the old man on the bench. What did the old fart want now?

"If you ever appear in my court room again trying to commit robbery, I'll have your license and if things go like I want I'll have your balls too. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Jeff Cochran was stung. Nobody treated him that way back in the city. He was stiff with outrage as he responded. "Your honor," there was a hint of sarcasm as he said that, "I merely pursued the objectives of reputable businessmen and believed their claims to be legitimate. You can't fault me for that. That, sir, is what lawyers do."

The judge scowled. "You just remember what I said, young man. I doubt that will happen because you appear to me to be an idiot. Next time some fly-by-night contractor hires you, at least go look at what he claims to have done. Now, get out of my courtroom. I have REAL cases to hear!"

Robert, who had stood quietly as the exchanges took place, merely bowed toward the judge, by habit, and said "Thank you your honor."

The judge waved his hand. "Welcome back, sir. Some time we need to get together. I'd like to hear what you've been up to all these years."

Robert left the courtroom and went directly to another office in the courthouse, where he paid a reasonable fee for copies of certain documents on file there. These he placed in his briefcase before leaving the courthouse.

When he went outside there was a man waiting for him. The man had a notebook and pencil in his hand.

"Mister Nettleton!" he called "Randy Stevens, of the Howard County Picayune. Could I have an interview please?"

"Certainly, mister Stevens. First a question for you, if you don't mind. What, exactly, is a 'picayune'?"

Randy looked confused. "It's a newspaper, sir." he said.

"I understand that," said Robert patiently, "But from where does that word come? What did it mean before somebody decided to use it as the name for a newspaper?"

Randy was still confused. He was all of twenty-six years old and, after graduating from college, had gone home to live with his parents and work for the biggest newspaper in the county. It had over two thousand subscribers, which seemed like an awful lot to Randy.

"I don't rightly know the answer to that, Mr. Nettleton."

"Ah," said Robert sagely. "No matter. I was just curious." Robert had been having a little fun, trying to needle the reporter. He was quite aware that a 'picayune' was a half dime coin that had been in use in the South in years past. The dictionary definition these days was "something of little value".

Randy, on his first real live mission as a 'society reporter' just nodded and launched into what he thought were penetrating and important questions about what 'the famous mister Nettleton' had been doing since the tragic death of his parents. All this was the result of his editor, one Hortence Robinson, age sixty, who had seen the court docket and recognized the Nettleton name from her youth. She had instructed her 'ace reporter' to "get on down there to Nettleton and get me something to put in the paper. It's been a slow week for news and I need to fill a couple of columns!"

Thus it was that Howard County and the city of Nettleton, found out that Robert Nettleton, the child of murdered parents, was back in his ancestral home, which was being refurbished in an attempt to restore it to its historical splendor. Roughly two thousand and twenty people (twenty bought the paper from a machine at the local grocery store) were pleased to read that a nice young man who had done a whole lot of missionary work overseas in six different countries, had come back to spend some of his inheritance in Howard County. The only sad part of the story was that, over the years, he had lost touch with his sister, who had gone on to live her life in anonymity somewhere. If, as Randy pointed out sadly, she was even still alive. Hortence filled her two columns and was happy. What with people sharing newspapers like they did so often (to her disgruntlement), it was quite possible that as many as twenty-five hundred people in the county had read the story. And if THEY talked about it to their friends, maybe the other thirty thousand residents of the county would be spurred to buy a damned paper themselves!

Ramona was glad to leave work that night. She needed to soak in a nice hot bath and relax. Her world had been turned upside down and, though it was beginning to settle, the world looked different to her than it had such a short time ago. She was astonished at the differences in the mansion. The landscaping was almost done, with the exception of the part of the yard that was reserved for contractor's vehicles to park in. A large Gazebo had been built on the front lawn, surrounded by flower gardens and a winding path of flagstone. Hedges had been planted that, when mature, would make walls along pathways, turning them into private places, almost like a maze.

There was a fresh coat of paint on the structure. The shutters had been repaired, along with various portions of the facade and roof. The tower roof now gleamed with a new covering of burnished copper. The carriage house had been renovated and even the old carriage in it had been lovingly restored by one of the few people in the country who knew how to do the work in the original fashion.

The interior of the house looked like her dim memories of the home she was born into. There were some new things. She loved the stained glass windows and how they cast bright color over everything. Electricity had made a tremendous difference in the place, banishing gloom and dark corners to a past that was also becoming easier to make dim and unnoticeable. Robert had even restored her bedroom to its exact appearance in her memory. Wood gleamed everywhere with oils and polish. The musty smell had gone with the original fabrics which had been replaced with authentic period designs.

She had noticed all these things in her last panicked trip to see Robert, and then had really SEEN them as she left. As she got in her car to go home and change panties she had realized that the house in her memories, the dark and forbidding place where so much pain had been felt, wasn't there any more. THIS house looked like a warm and inviting place, where only love might live. It was unsettling in a strange way, because she wasn't used to thinking about the Nettleton Mansion as anything but a sad, dismal and lonely place.

And then she'd come home to find her children naked in bed. That she'd left them alone still niggled at her. It seemed like everything in her life niggled at her right now. All she wanted to do was soak in the tub, with maybe a little Mahler playing softly on the record player. She wished she had a bottle of wine.

She entered the house to find that her children were preparing supper. They had put together a green bean casserole with crisped onions on top, and had made a valiant attempt at frying chicken, though the breading hadn't stuck and the pan was a bit too hot. There was a pot of semi-mashed potatoes on the stove. A little additional milk would finish them to a creamy texture. There was also the smell of baking bread in the room.

"You baked bread?!" she asked, incredulous.

"Well, sort of." said Debbie, a little uncertainly. "It didn't get all big and puffed up like when you do it.

Ramona looked into the oven and saw a loaf of bread about half as risen as it should have been.

Still, it made her heart warm to think that the children had done this for her. She announced that she was going to let them finish while she took a bath. She wouldn't get to soak quite as long as she'd planned, but it would be enough. She already felt better.

Ramona wrapped a towel around her head, turban style and donned her thick terrycloth robe, belting it tightly around her body. She put on her fluffy blue slippers and padded down to the kitchen. She paused in the doorway. Debbie was stirring the mashed potatoes industriously while Robby stood behind her, his arms around her. It was obvious his hand were on Debbie's breasts and she was wiggling her hips, pushing them into Robby's groin.

"Robby!" scolded the girl. "Behave yourself. Mom could be down any minute."

"I can't resist you." said her brother into the back of her head as he breathed in the scent of her hair.

"You're sweet," said Debbie, and Ramona could tell she meant it. "but knock it off. You're making me horny and dinner's almost ready."

"Put it on warm." suggested her brother. "Mom's probably still soaking. We could have a little fun before she gets done."

"Mom's DONE soaking." said Ramona, stepping into the kitchen. She almost laughed as Robby jerked his hands away from his sister's breasts and stepped back, looking embarrassed.

"Told you." said Debbie, looking over her shoulder at her brother. Her cheeks were a little pink.

"The bathroom is free." said Ramona, sitting down at the table. "In case you want to take a cold shower or something." She wanted to smile at Robby, but didn't. She didn't want to get into it with her children. Not only was she feeling better, she wasn't at all sure how much energy she could put into trying to make them stop.

She changed the subject. "If not, I'm starved and it smells wonderful in here."

They sat down to eat and the tension drained away as they talked about inconsequential things. The food tasted good and, if there was a little burn on the chicken and the bread was heavy and dense, Ramona didn't care. It was the thought that counted, and she appreciated that.