Becky in the Hilltop Stockade

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My name be Rebeccah Hankins and I am a maid of twenty-nine years, member of the First Parish and citizeness of Dedham township. I been called to His Majesty’s court to answer charges against me. Missus Sarah Threadgill says I stole a half-penny from her purse, which ain’t true. I work in the Threadgill house as their servant and I am no thief. I cook their meals thrice daily, spank their untamed brats, and sweep their dirt floor. And that ain’t all. I draw the Missus’s hot bath on Saturday week, empty her chamber pot, and even washed the cow’s privates soiled by the unexpected arrival of her bloody curse one evening abed. The reason Missus Sarah accuses me is for cleaving with her husband, Isaac, which, Lord forgive me, is true. The poor man so bad needed the touch of a healthy and loving girl such as me to salve his soul smothered by his fat, stinking harlot of a wife. As Isaac coupled his manly stem with my womanly flower, so did Missus Sarah perform the abominations of a whore with the Reverend Jonathan Nathan. I know it true, she been worshipping the pastor as a graven idol.

I be wearing my pretty calico dress to look presentable for the magistrate, Calvin Hallowell. I smile real pretty and sit demur like a real lady, not an indentured wench that I be. The devilish cow sits behind me with Isaac, heavy of brow and shrunken of testicle in her yoke. Judge Hallowell marches into the court, his heavy shoes creaking the wooden flooring slats, and took his seat behind the long desk, the highest chair in the courtroom.

In a flurry so bloody quick I ain’t knew it happened, Elder Hallowell declares I was “guilty” and sentences me to “two days in the stocks.” Then he bangs his gavel.

“Don’t I get me a say?” I ask, angry like, and he bangs his gavel again.

“Bailiff, bring the prisoner to the gaol.” While the magistrate marched out, the bailiff, who stank of eggs and urine, put his hands on mine shoulders and lifted me out the chair like a child’s puppet. I started to hit him with me fists and the bailiff’s meaty hand crossed me face, breaking me nose. I spit blood and snot and cried tears as the big brute carried me under his arm.

Outside, the bailiff toted me like a sack of beans across the town common to the gaol and dropped me on the dirt in front of the door. Constable Peter Green, who be a Dutchman whose real name be Pyer Van Grunning, asked if I was to be locked up for a whore.

The bailiff said, “Nay, she be two days in the stocks for a thief.”

With that, the constable grabbed hold of me cherished red-as-a-cranberry hair with one hand and picked up a sledge with the other and dragged me across the green to the hilltop next to the meeting house, where the wooden stocks stood. The skin on me legs tore away and left me bleeding from me ankles to me hocks after being dragged like a fresh killed turkey buzzard.

“I made them stocks m’self,” the Constable announced with pride as I watched him lift the top plank off the bottom one, connected by hinges on both sides that looked to mine eyes a bit like bedposts. “The old iron stockade went rotten with rust and buyin’ pig iron from His Majesty’s foundry be mighty dear. So, I fashioned this here stockade from good balsa wood.”

With deftness birthed of experience, Peter Green pulled me arms through the middle two holes and me legs through the holes on left and right. I ain’t ignorant—I know me left from me right and I can read words. Constable Green’s grimy hands pulled off me high-buttoned shoes real rough like and I scolded, “Hey, ye be hurtin’ me.”

He responded by whipping the back of his hand across me face, making me already broke nose bleed again. “Be still, bitch.” I ain’t spoke at all whist he pounded the iron hook into the eyelet, locking me in the stockade. All I done was cry and shiver, though it be high noon in Indian Summer. The stretched out muscles of me arms and legs burned like they was afire and I be hard pressed to hold me head up till I learnt to stick out me chin and stiffen me neck. Behind me I felt me dress, petticoat, and long-johns was out in the open. I wanted to curse aloud when Peter Green touched me breasts and bottom parts like he was making sure they was where they was supposed to be. Inside me head, I prayed the Angel of Death would visit the Constable with a most awful demise.

My first hour in the stocks was quiet, nary a soul was out and about the township. I cried for me misfortune and me painfully stretched out limbs. Bye and bye, folks began to come out and took notice of me. A trio of children, all of them boys, pointed at me and laughed. Then the kits went away, scurried about fetching spoiled apples from the ground in the Pastor’s orchard, and ran up the hill toward where I was bound and helpless. The accursed spawn tossed the rotten brown fruits at me, some missing and two hitting the crown of me head and one hitting the side of me face, splattering on me cheek. I prayed they would not hit me mouth with a hard apple, for fear of taking out me teeth. I already lost two lowers and an upper with another tooth turned black. I be left to eat mush like a babe. I thanked the Good Shepherd the mites suadiye escort called me an ugly witch and were gone.

The God-fearing adults of our township were crueler and filthier than them pups had been. I knew them all, but I ain’t about to accord them the respect of speaking their Christian names. A townsman of considerable means packed a mud cake in his hand and aimed it at me mouth. I spit it out and he walked up to the stockade and stuffed it into me mouth. A common laborer of unclean hands and heart threw a half-ate corncob at me ear. A deacon of the First Parish held the hand of his daughter, a golden-haired lass, and instructed her to tickle the soles of me feet with a bird’s feather. Me laughing was as miserable as crying and I do believe the little girl felt bad for me, but her father told her, “This is not a woman of virtue. Learn this lesson well, my Abigail.” The worst was yet to come. Me former mistress what falsely accused me brought the contents of her bed chamber pot and hurled it at me face. The great cow of Hades then demanded her fornicator of a husband to stand before me. The coward unloosed his pisser and urinated on me person, soaking me beautiful hair with his befouled venom.

A wee bit before dusk, Constable Peter Green brought a pan of water with a crust of bread floating in it. He held the pan for me to lap the water like a dog. He held the bread in his dirty fingers and fed it to me; as I chewed, he asked me, “Does it taste better than Sarah’s shit? Ha-ha!”

By nightfall, the pressure in me bladder pained me and I knew there was no stemming the tide of me waters for two days and nights. I felt relief and shame as I peed me woolen undergarments; at first, I be snug and warm, but soon I went cold and clammy. I cried till me eyes burnt and then I slept.

In the darkest hour of eventide, I opened me eyes to a new horror. There stood before me a half-naked savage, an Indian, casting his eyes upon me pitiful condition. I was scared. “What do ye want? Leave me be! Ye get on out of here now.”

I seen this Indian before. He works as a laborer in town and lives in a shack in the woods. I looked at him and I swear I saw kindness in his eyes. He was holding a full bucket, a long-handle brush, and a piece of cloth. He knelt in front of the stockade, smiled at me, and spoke softly.

“They call me Daniel. My Nipmuc name is Rowaton. I help you. ”

I saw a block of lye soap a-floating in his water bucket as he dipped the cloth to wet it and then squeezed it with his powerful hands. Presently, Daniel washed me face, hair, hands, and feet with all the tenderness of a mother cleansing her newborn cherub.

“Why ye be doin’ this? Ye don’t be knowin’ me.” I heard me speech shaky with feelings. “Such kindness…”

“I know you, Miss,” said Daniel, smiling as he rinsed fresh water on his cloth and let it spill on the top of my head, making me laugh. “I see you in Dedham, doin’ your chores for your master and mistress. You be a servant like me. You be the woman with hair like fire and eyes like the sky.” The heathen be taken with me red hair and blue eyes.

The dawn was about to break and Daniel cleansed me wretchedness as best he could. He said he had to take his leave and I knew he be dealt with worse than getting put in stocks if he was caught helping me. So, I asked him to touch me face again with his strong hands. I kissed both his palms, savoring his natural scent and thanking My Savior for sending Daniel to me. I felt a swelling of love in me bosom for me sweet angel as he walked away.

I peed through me petticoat just before Peter Green came with me breakfast of bread and water. He startled at me clean face.

“How did you neaten yourself overnight, whore?”

“I prayed to the Lord and he washed away me sins.”

“Blaspheme!” yelled Peter and punched me face. I swallowed a bloody tooth with the morning’s bread and water.

The next day coursed much as the first. Adults came by and tossed spoiled fruit and cow chips at me head. Youngsters tickled me feet, spit on me face, and one beastly son of a sow stuffed blueberries in me nostrils. I bit the little rat’s finger and he ran off bleating like a sheep. Isaac and Sarah came a-calling and she dumped her pot on me head again, but he refrained from dousing me this time. Isaac just looked at me with an empty sort of look that told me he ain’t much of a man anyway.

After Peter Green fed me lunch—the bread got staler and the water cloudier this second day—the blacksmith’s apprentice came, name of Zeke, I believe. I thought he was about to spit on me, or worse—there was a meanness in his eyes—but he just took his leave without so much as speaking a word. A few minutes later, I felt a pain in my belly and it began to swell. My entrails were stuffed and groaning. I lost all the feeling in me arms and legs for they been stretched out and a-hanging so long. Now I had a warm and moist feeling at me bottom. I tried to pass gas to lessen the pressure in me gut, but after a few puffs of smoke the hurting got so bad I knew there was no stopping the flood of nature. I couldn’t help for crying as I yakacık escort filled me woolen long-johns with poppycock. I felt it flowing over me thighs and down the back of me legs. When the Constable brought me the very same half-ate piece of bread in the dirty pan to sup on as had been me lunch, he smelt me offal and laughed mightily.

Come nightfall, Daniel approached carting his bucket and a sack. I told him, “Stay away. I be a hog in swill.”

Daniel put down his bucket and said, “I help you,” just as he did the night before. Daniel reached into his sack and took out a sweet pear. He held it to my lips and I hungrily savored its succulence and juice. When there was nary seeds and core uneaten, me sweet angel gave me a second pear and I devoured it as quickly as the first one. Then I licked the stickiness from Daniel’s chestnut brown hands and it be the taste of his flesh I desired, not the juice of the fruit.

Presently, Daniel fetched a second bucket and his brush. Without so much as a word to beg me pardon, he went behind me and lifted me skirts. Like a hand maiden undressing her ladyship, Daniel removed me shit-covered petticoat and woolen underwear. Daniel put the stinking garments in a water bucket to soak. Not a hint of shame did I feel as this big, strong man cast his eyes upon me arse and bush but a moment before he dipped his cloth into the other bucket and commenced to wipe the excrement off me hindquarters. The tenderness of his touch and the gratitude in me heart caused me to cry for joy. Here, locked in the stocks for a thief, and I feel joy—all because of my sweet angel, Daniel Rowaton.

“I wish I can get you out and take you away,” he said, holding me hands in his after he was done cleaning me up. “The white law says anyone who runs to an Indian village to escape the stocks be hanged.”

“I don’t want ye be hanged,” I said, feeling scared. I also felt like a helpless child as Daniel dressed me bottom and legs in me wet but clean long-johns and petticoats under me calico dress.

“I come get you on the morrow,” he promised and as easily as that me lifelong fear of the dark Indians disappeared. Mine loathing be for the whites that humiliated me so awful.

Sleep was hard in the stocks. Mostly, I be drifting off only to be startled by crickets, a frog, or the soreness in me own arms and legs. Me thinks I be dreaming when I felt hands on me body. I thought me sweet angel had come to give the loving touch I sorely desired of him. The odor that stung me nose and the hands that ripped at me dress be not Daniel’s. I tried to turn me head to see, but huge fingers wrapped around me neck and squeezed. I opened me mouth to scream and no voice sounded. A moment later, I felt a sword of fire separating the petals of me womanly flower. A heavy weight lay upon me back as the man’s serpent of a penis penetrated me woman’s hole. I gasped and the most profane curse escaped me throat, “Ye be Satan’s own sodomite!” I tasted the monstrous rapist’s foul breath as he tore me flesh with his teeth, biting me shoulder while he cocked me like a stallion mating his mare. I felt me vagina ripping and tearing as he worked through this most evil fornication. “Please stop or kill me, ye warlock!” For that, he delivered his fist to me chest and I sucked the night air, short of breath, as the devil squirted his wicked excretion into me poor beaten and swollen thicket.

The unnamed beast be gone, retreating from behind me, so I shan’t able to see his face. I cried and called for me angel. “Daniel! Rowaton!” Yet I know he ain’t near enough to hear me cries.

Daniel appeared at sunrise, even before the Constable. He spake words I ain’t understood when he saw me messy underclothing, signifying he knew what misfortune befell me. Daniel straightened me clothing and affectionately stroked me red hair that he so admired. Then Constable Peter Green opened the gaol’s door and climbed the hill.

“What business have you here, redskin?” he said sternly to Daniel Rowaton, whose complexion was brown as cinnamon.

“The maid is to pay me a ha’penny to do chores,” Daniel spoke falsely.

The mean Constable Green snickered, “I ‘spect the same half-a-pence she stealed from Sarah.” Wielding his sledgehammer with a mighty clang, the Constable pounded the iron hooks out of the eyelets and the baneful wooden stocks opened up. Daniel took one shoulder and Peter Green the other and they stood me up on firm ground. I tried taking me a step and crumpled to the ground like a shot bird.

“I be all crippled up!” I had no feelings in me arms or me legs, not even pain. The cruel Constable just laughed, threw me filthy shoes at me, and departed.

Daniel swept me up into his sinewy arms. “Your blood needs to flow like a stream. You be feelin’ like your own self again.”

“Where you be takin’ me, Daniel?” I asked, resting me head on his hard, muscled shoulder.

“To my hut. You be safe there.” He wore a linen blouse and pantaloons today. I moved me chin up to his hairless neck and kissed it.

“I got no home now,” I told him. “I expect the town folk to shun me and the First Parish to şerifali escort excommunicate me.” I though about me attacker and vile deed he done to me. “I wonder who me tormentor be.”

“I be trackin’ him,” Daniel said in a firm voice, although he be a-carrying me and his buckets and tools. I spied the long blade of his knife in a doeskin sheath strapped to his rope belt.

“What are we to do if we find him?” I asked, holding onto Daniel with all me strength, feeling happy in his arms despite me recent misfortunes.

“We geld and kill the villain,” Daniel pronounced sternly and calmly. I kissed the flesh of his neck again.

I figure he walked carrying me pretty near an hour to the woods a good three miles out of Dedham township. We came to a patch of still green pumpkins. I never seen so many growing in one place.

“I bring my gourds to Providence Plantations,” explained Daniel. “Them good folk give me a fair price.”

In short order, we arrived at Daniel’s hut, more like a tent fashioned by sappling branches than a shack, but having a thatched roof made of straw, the same as the townsfolk. It had a dirt floor in the middle of which was a circle of stones for a campfire directly beneath an opening in the thatched roof. Daniel called it “the hole in the sky.”

When he put me down, I managed to steady myself enough to stand and walk about. Daniel commenced to working, fetching wood, building the fire, hauling water from a little stream nearby, filling a crockery pot with water, and hanging it on a crossbar over the fire for boiling. He brought a large wooden tub from out back, poured hot water into it, and told me to take off me clothes. I was to take me a bath with his lye soap and wire brush.

“I need to take care of me necessities first,” I said with what spare modesty I had left.

Daniel laughed, “I got no chamber pot, Miss Rebecca. My people don’t know why you whites foul your nests. We go outside.”

“Call me Becky,” I said, smiled, and took hold of his hand.

What struck me was not only that Indian people didn’t urinate and defecate inside their homes. I hadn’t thought of myself or any of the town folk as whites. This was a new idea to me mind. Daniel led me outside and turned away as I stooped to relieve myself. He lowered his pantaloons and watered a white birch tree. I admired the firm pads of his buttocks and caught a glimpse of Daniel’s stout manhood. I sorely wanted to caress it in me hands, but I knew I had to wait just a bit longer to show him me love.

I sat in the tub, soaked me tortured skin, and let Daniel wash away me pain, filth, and unhappiness. Me womanly folds swelled and titillated as me sweet angel rubbed soap and water on me full bosoms with their cherry red tips. Daniel told me his story while washing me hair, which was longer and thicker than a horse’s tail.

“I’m Nipmuc, not Wampanoag,” he explained to me. “Nipmuc means people of the fresh water, but my mother and father were Praying Indians. We lived in Natick till King Phillip’s War when the whites drove us out. We went to live in the Nipmuc village, Hassanamisco, but we weren’t part of the tribe no more ’cause we was Christians. Then when I came of age to be a man, I ate the cornbread at the council and got adopted into the tribe.”

“Why ye be workin’ as a hired hand in Dedham?” I asked even as I salaciously reveled in the touch of his hands bathing me.

Daniel paused as if to think, then declared, “No game to hunt, no fish to ketch, no firs to trap, no land ‘cept a pun’kin patch to grow food…”

After allowing me newly immaculate body to dry by the fire, Daniel let me wear a blouse and trousers of his own while me befouled clothes boiled in the crucible over the fire. After that he cooked up a luncheon of corn meal mush, sliced squash, and bits of deer meat. No Christmas yams tasted so beautiful to me palate.

“I know who is the devil that did the evil thing to you.”

“Who be he? How do ye know?”

“He’s the blacksmith’s apprentice…I followed his tracks and they stopped at the blacksmith’s shop. I smelled him. He left his odor on you.” Daniel Rowaton, a noble Nipmuc man, paused to chew some food, and when he looked at me I knew he understood the word love. Then me beloved promised, “We kill the devil durin’ the night.”

I put down my plate, stood up, and walked over to Daniel, kneeling in front of him. I untied his rope belt, touched his manly stalk with me fingertips, and licked it with me tongue. I looked up at him and told him, “Speak me name.”

Rowaton said, “Becky … Becky … Becky!” I took his rooster’s cock in my mouth and sucked like a foundling on a teat. I tasted some of his sweet sap on me lips. My dark angel unfurled a mat made from animals’ pelts while I undressed and he bade me to lay upon it. I puffed up me chest to tempt him to touch me breasts and spread me legs to make me sex no longer hid. Daniel sniffed me long locks, smelt the strands of fiery red hair under me arms and covering me simmering cauldron down below, and pressed his nose to me soft downy legs, me thighs, me belly, and me behind. Even before he lay beside me hot body, opened me glistening pearl with his fingers, and coupled with me, I knew I be fucking no other man for as long as I be living. His staff grew inside me splashing wet cushion and we laughed for pretty near an hour till we went senseless in our pleasures.

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