Mother Lode by Carol Anita Sheldon

but it was all that was left.
    When she was bathing him, Catherine noticed
Jorie’s penis was bruised and swollen. “Jorie, what is this? What
happened to you?”
    He burst out crying and would not talk.
    “Did Papa do this to you? Answer me!”
    Jorie shook his head.
    “Did he?”
    “No!” Jorie sobbed.
    “What happened? How did you injure
yourself?”
    Jorie pulled away. Finally, she got it out
of him that he had wound a piece of yarn around it tightly and tied
it so as not to wet.
    When she’d gotten the story from him, such a
fury mounted in her as she’d never known. All the feelings that had
been dammed up of the injustice of Thomas’ punishment rose in a
torrid swell from her spine upward. This would not, could not
continue. That Jorie would feel obliged to resort to such extreme
measures to accommodate his father’s will was outrageous.
    She rocked him in her arms, crying, “Oh, my
darling bonnie lad.”
    Finally, she pushed him up and took his face
between her hands. “You must promise me that you’ll never do that
to yourself again.”
    “But it’s the only way,” he cried.
    “Jorie, you could really injure yourself.
Maybe permanently.”
    “But I don’t know how else to stop!”
    For a moment she said nothing. Then she sat
straight up. “He won’t whip you any more. I promise.”
    “How can you make him stop, Mummy?”
    “I’ll find a way.”
    Although only twenty-four years old,
Catherine knew her feminine charms no longer held leverage over
Thomas. His smoldering resentment over losing Walter and their
continual quarrels regarding Jorie’s discipline had risen to such a
crescendo, the fire of his passion was all but extinguished. Only
occasionally did he require his conjugal rights. She could hardly
threaten to deprive him of what he no longer desired.
    No, it would have to be something else.
Something that would strike at his public face.
    She knew that Thomas would be entertaining
his poker friends the next evening as he did every Friday night.
George McKinney, Arthur Johnson, Buck Boyce and Earl Foster would
all be there.
    After completing the
washing up that evening, she strode purposefully into the dining
room, where he sat at the table studying the assays of last month’s
yield of ore. She did not wait for him to
look up.
    “If you strike that boy one more time, I
will leave you. I will take Jorie and leave your home, Thomas.”
    He turned to her, stunned. “You can’t do
that.”
    “Of course I can.”
    “I would not support you.”
    “You forget I have money of my own.”
    “And how long do you think that would
last?”
    “If necessary I will go to work.”
    “Are you trying to undo me, woman? First
Walter, now Jorie!”
    “It seems to me you are undoing Jorie.”
    “He needs discipline, Catherine!”
    “Not like that.”
    Thomas took a deep breath. “You cannot take
a man’s children from him. The law would give him back to me.”
    The tiniest smile appeared on her face.
“Perhaps. But need I point out, Thomas, that in the meantime there
would be a great scandal? We shall make our departure tomorrow
evening—during your poker game—complete with suitcases.”
    His mouth fell open. Catherine left the room
before he could find words to answer.
    The next morning Thomas turned to her. “I
have given thought to your remarks. Under one condition I will
agree to your request.”
    For an anguishing moment time seemed to
freeze.
    “Someone has to discipline the lad,” he
continued. “If you believe you are up to the task, then I leave it
to you. If you are unwilling, unable, or fail in your duty, the
responsibility will revert to me.”
    Catherine could hardly believe what she’d
heard.
    “All right,” she answered. “I’ll undertake
his discipline.”
    “Do not misunderstand me. You are soft with
the boy. I wager it will be only a short time before the task will
fall to me again. I expect an accounting, Catherine, of his
infractions and how you have dealt with