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When I look back, most weeks she has begged for more forgiveness, telling me that she had not been punished enough and demanding more whipping or spanking. I think that followed her meetings with Marsha. I never recorded those occasions but searching my memory and comparing with Marsha’s diary I think there is no doubt that Marsha was part of the pattern.”“How do you feel about that?”“She always came back to me and as far as I know I was the only one to whom she came for punishment and forgiveness. That may not be the same thing as love, but for me, it worked.”Mistress nodded, raised a hand and pointed at Marsha.“Marsha?”“Yes, Mistress.”“Is that how you see it? Was Candy’s time with you a transgression?”“Not for me. I knew she was married. The only thing she ever said about Andy was that she loved him.”“Ahh,” Mistress held up one finger. “Did she think that Andy loved her?” She turned slightly, fixing Andy with her gaze. “Do not look at Marsha.”The finger turned to point at Marsha.. At least as I look back on it now, I realize we were happy. We weren't comfortable and our daily lives were filled with the chores one must do when there is no central heat, no plumbing, and very little money to buy food. We lived in western Virginia, in the Blue Mountains. Carol did the cooking and house-cleaning. I chopped wood in the fall and winter, tried to stop the roof from leaking, slaughtered the chickens and the other man-chores around the house. We attended a one-room school that we walked to. We were the oldest in the class since our father was not a farmer. We had never been farther than our local town, Thompsonville, and that only on special occasions or on Sunday.Our cabin was tiny, just three rooms - a main living/dining/kitchen with one wood stove and two bedrooms. Our father had a bedroom and Carol and I shared one. Back then this was acceptable, out of necessity. Boys and girls frequently shared a bedroom with several siblings. We had small beds not quite long.
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