“I need to know if there is a certain etiquette to it all? Obviously, a man can’t just go around upending any female he has a mind to,” Morgan continued, frustrated to be having this conversation at all. Two weeks ago, he’d have gotten on the internet and found all the information he needed about how to give a proper spanking.
“I guess now that I think about it, there are certain rules of propriety that need to be observed,” Mead said. “Privacy is very important, unless the young lady’s behavior in public is so blatantly offensive that a man feels justified in correcting it immediately.”
“What do you do with all those skirts and petticoats?”
“Well, if she’s unmarried, you should only spank her over her skirts, so if you want her to feel it, you have to be fairly firm. If she’s your intended, it’s acceptable to lift up her skirt, but only if she’s wearing a petticoat. If the woman is your wife, it can be on the bare skin, and I believe in using a good stiff hairbrush if necessary. Are we talking about any particular lady here, or just women in general?” Mead probed, struggling to hide his grin.
“Callie Mae Walker,” Morgan replied smoothly.
“I’m not surprised,” Mead laughed, clapping Morgan on the back. “If ever a young woman needed a man to take her in hand, it’s Callie Mae. That girl has every gossip in town wagging her tongue and every man under sixty aching to see what kind of girls she’s bringing in.”
“I know,” Morgan sighed. “How hard and long should I…”
“That depends on the woman and the reason. With some the embarrassment is enough and a few smacks will do the trick. With Callie Mae, I think it will take more than that. One thing I will tell you is, don’t stop until she is sobbing over your knee and promising to be good. If you do, you’ll only be repeating the lesson over and over again, and with Callie Mae, that seems likely anyway. She’s stubborn and opinionated and I have my doubts a licking or two will change her.”
“I don’t want to truly harm her. How will I know if I’m spanking too hard?”
“You’ll have to judge that by her reaction. If she’s cussing a blue streak and fighting like a wildcat, you need to put more strength behind the slaps. It might take a while to wear her down, but if you let her go, she’ll likely shoot you. I suggest removing the gun I hear she wears in her garter,” Mead suggested with a grin.
“Good point,” Morgan agreed, turning the wagon into the drive.
The delicious smells radiating from the kitchen door were enough to have both men quickly unloading supplies from the wagon. Matthew was right behind them as they washed up at the pump in the yard and dried their hands on the towel Emma had hanging outside the kitchen door. What Emma called boiled dinner was being dished up as they took their places at the table. Ham, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots, along with hot baking powder biscuits and fresh butter had Morgan’s mouth watering, but he took the time to pull his mother’s chair out for her, never noticing the look of astonishment on his brothers’ faces as he hurried back to his seat.
“Thank you,” Emma murmured, surprised at her son’s small courtesy.
Dishes were passed as each man filled his plate, but no one picked up a fork until Emma had placed a small amount of food on her plate and folded her hands.
“Morgan, please say the blessing,” she said softly.
Morgan wracked his brain. It had been years since he had been assigned this task. Long ago he would travel with his parents and brother to his grandparents for holiday dinners and occasionally he would be asked to do this, but he couldn’t remember a single prayer. He tried to think of the blessings he’d heard in the last week at this very table and came up blank. Finally, clearing his throat he decided to wing it.
“Father, thank you for this meal before us, prepared with loving hands. Thank you for the family that surrounds us and keep them safe from harm. Thank you for the sturdy roof over our heads and the land that feeds us…and thank you for Emma Whittaker, the best cook in the great state of Kansas. Amen.”
For a moment there was stunned silence as Morgan picked up his fork, eager to dive into his meal. Then Emma started giggling and Mead and Matthew laughed outright.
“Well, if that ain’t the truth,” Matthew said as he began buttering a biscuit, “I don’t know what is. There’s not a woman around that can hold a candle to Ma’s cooking. Even that pretty little widow down at the Blue Bonnet doesn’t come close and she makes a mighty fine meal.”
“I hear you and Mead have been stopping in there quite often,” Emma drawled as she sliced a piece of ham off the bone. “If I’m such a good cook, why are you eating there, Matthew?” she teased.
“Well gee, Ma, now that Floyd Dixon’s gone and got himself killed and left his wife with three children to support, I figure she needs all the customers she can get.”
“Is that what you were doing when you were out back chopping wood for her last week, being a good customer?” Emma asked with a twinkle in her eye.
Matthew blushed and was silent for a moment. As the youngest he was used to being teased, but what he felt for Laurie Dixon was no teasing matter. Straightening in his chair, he spoke in a voice none of them had heard before.
“No, Ma, I was chopping wood for her because I like her,” he said firmly. “She’s a hardworking woman and those children of hers are sweet as can be. Laurie is about the prettiest gal I’ve ever seen, and I’d court her if she’d let me.”
“Why won’t she let you court her?” Emma asked in shock, appalled that any woman would find a flaw in one of her sons.
“I don’t rightly know for sure. She talks a lot about women’s rights and how she needs to be independent of a man. Says she’ll never marry again, and that she’s had enough of men’s nonsense to last her a lifetime. I asked her what nonsense she was talking about, but she just blushed and said for me to forget she said that.”
“Does she have any family to help her?” Emma asked from behind her napkin where she was hiding a smile.
“Her family is back East and she’d starve before showing up at their door, a poor widowed woman with three little ones.”
“How old are her children?” Morgan asked, finding this conversation very interesting.
“Three, four, and five,” Matthew replied. “Three boys: Jonah, Josiah, and Jacob.”
