The Vaught Family Dairy - Ch 13

- 13 -

The Vaught Plantation - August 5th, 1952 - 11:49 p. m.

"Cunningham didn't know." Elizabeth said.

Greg's hand shifted out of the shadows again and set the empty glass on the table. "One more should be enough. If you don't mind, Liz."

She prickled, but after this much of his painful presence, she didn't see the point in arguing. Besides, it'll give me the chance to get closer to him. She crossed the room and picked up his glass. This time, she was mindful of the effect stepping closer to him had. Could Abigail really make a serum that effected a compelling aura? It wouldn't shock me. For her to use it though? On a man like Gregory? No, not even she would truly do that. It's a game, meant to scare me back into my place.

She refilled his glass and carried it back to him. Standing so close to him, she doubted her belief in Abigail's moral compass. The air felt charged. She couldn't see him, not more than a shadow, but she knew his body was a seething mass of muscle ready to spring out of the chair and sweep her into his arms. She would naturally protest, feign disinterest as she pounded her fists on his chest while at the same time wrapping her legs around him and drawing him closer to her. Stop. She turned to go back to her seat.

"No," he growled. "Kneel down."

Her knees weakened. She tried to keep herself standing, but deep down, she wanted nothing more than to obey. It wasn't some trick of chemicals in the air or whatever other hogwash he had been tricked into believing. No, Elizabeth wanted to kneel for him because she knew it would be worth it, even if she hated herself and him all the more. Turning back to him, she lightly pressed a hand into her waist before easing down to her knees. She rested her ass on her heels, remaining tense and waiting.

At this angle, the light hit Greg's face with more relief. She saw his chiseled jaw, his strong neck, and eyes dark with intent. She wanted to press her hands onto his thighs, slide them up to where a magnificent bulge waited for her. Me, not Abigail, she thought with some bitterness. What could I have done if I'd had a husband who loved me like he loves Abigail? She heard him sip as he tasted the drink, and she recalled what he'd said when asking for it. "Enough for what?"

She didn't see his smile, but saw his cheeks and eyes curl up enough to know he was grinning. "It dulls the effect. The body processes the alcohol first, and the serum second. Don't worry. We'll get to it in time. Only one more box to check, after all. What happened last night at the club?"

Elizabeth frowned. It wasn't a pleasant memory. She'd hosted one of her usual events, the legitimate kind, not the ones that ended in the basement with milk everywhere. She'd agreed to it weeks before in a hope that it would be a safe and easy scene to introduce her daughters around. The usual problems presented themselves in the lead up. The twins remained mad at her over the treatment of their father. The staff told her that Benjamin was absolutely furious over the state of his bed, to the point where she didn't even expect him to attend. And worst of all, Gregory and Abigail showed up. Then -- oh.

Her posture slumped, and she sensed Gregory's smug glare. She stared down at the ground wondering for the millionth time why her life hadn't gone the way it should have. She gasped as rough fingers slid against her cheek and under her chin. Gently, they nudged her gaze up to look at the looming shadow that hid her brother-in-law's face. "Tell me what happened," he said.

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The Farrs Post Country Club - August 4th, 1952 - 8:12 p. m.

Elizabeth smiled at the Conners, a local family of moderate wealth. Recent additions to the club's membership. Not particularly worth her time. However, their son, Douglas, was the popular sort of young man who tended to draw in the others his age into a charismatic confidence. Not entirely unlike Benjamin once had. For that reason, Elizabeth debated giving Mr. and Mrs. Conners more than a polite hello. Introducing them to one of the other prestigious families would ingratiate her enough to inquire about their son at least. Before she could decide, Benjamin decided for her.

Her husband looked as dashing as ever as he entered the club. He looked around with the bewildered air of someone unexpectedly finding themselves in a place where they most likely were not wanted. Elizabeth had technically wanted him to attend. It wouldn't do to have the twins' father be mysteriously absent, especially if rumors of his more serious affair started to spread. As much as she loathed her husband, he had his uses. Benjamin was easy to like. People opened up to him with nearly no prompt. It was the lack of cunning about him that did it, she knew. The same lack of cunning which got his father and uncle swindled out of the family fortune.

He crossed to her with vague hesitation. Elizabeth brightened into a flurry of smiles as she pulled him close and offered her cheek. He planted a small peck, making sure to avoid her light makeup. She pushed him back and made a show of straightening his jacket or his tie or something about him that might have been off and was a wife's duty to correct. "You decided to join us."

"Of course," Benjamin said. "I care about the twins' future as much as you. I would like to see them happy and cared for. You seem to think this helps in that regard." He gestured around at the upper crust of Farrs Post society. "Besides, they asked me to attend. Where are they?"

She smoothed down the front of his clothes before hooking her arm into his and gliding them easily to an out of the way section of the room. It was easy to be lost in the club's main ballroom. Though Elizabeth hadn't chosen the interior's gaudy design, when given the choice to change it, she left it alone. Not for tradition or taste, but because the overpowering ridiculousness of it created enough visual chaos to turn the crowd to an anonymous mass of indistinct faces. The majority of the room buzzed with frivolous talk as people drank and snatched things from the trays hovering past them. The women's overwrought dresses created a base level of shuffling fabric that everyone's voice rose to speak over. At the far end of the room, a quintet played light pieces to keep the mood up for conversation.

Benjamin went along with her like a faithful dog. He likely presumed she was leading him to their daughters. When they wound up isolated, he looked to his wife with confusion. "Are they even here, Elizabeth? Surely they didn't conspire with you to get us in the same place."

"Of course not," she said, dropping her smile enough to convey her seriousness while still looking happily married if anyone happened to glance over. "You've all but turned them against me, not the other way around. They're dancing, I presume. I left them with Richard and Sophia. Sophia owes me. She'll take them around to speak with anyone she can find that's worth their time."

He flagged down a waiter and ordered a drink. Elizabeth waggled her fingers at the waiter. Every employee of the club knew her, her choices in alcohol, and her choices in strapping, young bucks to dose serum with. The latter fact helped keep the service prompt and motivated. While they waited for him to return, Benjamin grinned and waved at the few people who looked their direction. Elizabeth wanted people to see them together, cloistered off from the pack like a married couple often was from time to time. She could feel her husband's restlessness. That wasn't new. But, she noticed he avoided her touch when he could. She thought it due to his not subtle anger with her, but when she saw Carey Lewis walk in with his new wife, his junior by fifteen years, Elizabeth realized why her husband didn't want her to touch him. It made him feel disloyal to his slut of a mistress. "Did you enjoy the surprise I left for you?"

His charming aura faltered into a sneer. "Was it yours then? Didn't think you'd lower yourself to being a squirting cow just to get a little revenge on me."

"I lower myself as a squirting cow all the time, dear. Right onto the hard cocks of all the men who can satisfy me like you can't. But no, I had a guest provide the decoration of your bed. I figured if you wanted to share it with some whore, there's no reason I shouldn't join in on the fun."

Benjamin opened his mouth, but snapped it shut as the waiter returned. They lifted their drinks off his tray and sent him off. She thought he would lash out at her again, but he simply sighed. "I have nothing to gain by fighting with you, Elizabeth. You wanted me here to show a good face to your friends for our daughters' sake. So here I am. Needling me with your insults won't help them, so why do it?" He took a sip of his drink before adding, "Unless of course, it's never been about them for you, but another way of getting attention for yourself."

The nerve of him shocked her. Worse, it frightened her. She liked having him whipped, even if he got the occasional barb back at her. This defeated acceptance, though, was unheard of. He didn't value her enough to fight back. Because he values someone else more. "Go on then. Find our daughters some husbands unless you want them signing Milktec contracts. Perhaps you do. We could have grandchildren sired by some hulking freak. I think they rely on the family to raise those whelps, you know. We could rotate weeks. I keep them one, and you and your whore the next. Seems appropriate that you'd be raising the bastard children of some fat dicked fool who fucked your daughters while they screamed for it, since I presume your whore is screaming for your cock in a round about way to humiliate her father. Tell me, dearest, do you resemble the man? Her father that is? It's an old story. A young woman never gets her father's approval, and so she spends her life trying to hurt him by fucking some old man who subconsciously reminds her of him. The cruel irony of it being that since her father never cared about her in the first place, he naturally doesn't care about who she fucks."

She sipped her drink with a malicious grin only to find him staring at her with a blank, weary expression. "You're sick," he said. "Your mind has become twisted. I won't say I didn't help us along that path, but you sprinted where I stumbled. You chained others to you and dragged them along." He let out a short huff of laughter. "You hate your sister so much for marrying beneath herself. Well, what did you do? Married me. You think other women have to fuck older men to win their father's approval, but to win Emmanuel Vaught's approval you whored yourself to me. And you're still trying, with the man dead and rotting. You'd marry your daughters off to live in misery to try and please him, as well. You're a pathetic tragedy, Elizabeth. Striding around that old house as if it isn't crumbling around you. Not from the weathering of time, but from a rot that has grown up from its roots since the first stone was laid." He gulped the rest of his whiskey and snapped the glass down onto the table. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go search this crowd of hypocrites for someone who might actually care for Lydia or Amanda. We may be ruined, but they don't have to be."

Benjamin strode off, leaving behind his words with the same dispassionate regard he'd given the glass. Elizabeth was furious, embarrassed, and idiotically aroused. The withered part of her that survived her periodic cynic scouring of the soul spoke up. It told her that she'd had a man worth loving, one who had the capacity and depth to love back, and she'd wasted it on misplaced ideals. A moment longer, and she would have at least been forced to grapple with her life choices up to that moment. Instead, her gaze went to the door where her sister and Gregory had just walked in.

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Abigail wore a ridiculously sinister dress that hugged her body tightly before flaring out into sharp angles. She'd already struck up a conversation with Hubert London, one of the wealthier men in Farrs Post. Elizabeth didn't know Abigail had ever met the man. Maybe this was the first time, the old philanderer's gaze drawn to the provocative dress. Or, Hubert was as deep in Milktec's pocket as everyone else and simply saying hello to a colleague.

Beside Abigail, Gregory had on a suit that cut closer to him than his usual fare. His dark eyes scanned the room with hostility and gave Hubert no more than a passing glance. Clearly it wasn't his idea to be here. When his gaze landed on Elizabeth, he tilted his head slightly and curled up the corners of his mouth. It was less than a second's glance and still refreshed her fury, both for him acknowledging her and for not cowering for her approval. Of course they sometimes came to these parties, but usually after passing word along so that Elizabeth could find herself elsewhere for the occasion. For them to appear on this night, when she was bringing out Lydia and Amanda, was clearly revenge for something.

Elizabeth didn't go straight to them. That would be demeaning. Instead, she drifted back into the fold of society, striking up conversation with the least insufferable person she could find. It happened to be an older woman, Leonora Wicker, who came to the social club with the same attitude of a passing penitent attending church on a Sunday. She'd been a member since before Elizabeth was born. "You haven't been progressive enough, Elizabeth," Leonora said. "These sorts of spaces will die out if you don't allow things to loosen up a bit."

Placating a fossil on the subject of remaining progressive being Elizabeth's best option for conversation wasn't lost on her. "I'm certainly open to insights, Leonora."

The woman was unaccustomed to people actually listening to her. Her wrinkled brow furrowed, "Well, then I think it's about time you brought some color into this place. Mark my words, war shifts the floor underneath us. Good ones rip it up and demand new carpet be put down. These old, cloudy-eyed fools will damn the whole country if they keep clinging to their backward thinking. Your father, for example. The man terrified me with the way he would speak. I have no hesitation to tell you that I breathed a sigh of relief the day he went into the ground."

Elizabeth's attention had been primarily on her brother-in-law. "Leonora, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Racists, my dear. Your father was cut from a long white sheet, as they say. Did you care for him at all?"

The old woman asked it so blithely. Why do people keep bringing up my father? What the hell does this old witch know about it anyway? Of course I cared for him. He raised us. Taught us to survive in this world. Took care of us. Her thoughts must have shown on her face. Leonora touched her arm, "I hated my father, too. And my mother. Still do all these years later. Your girls seem right as rain though. Sending them off for school was smart, but you and Abigail have always been brilliant. Of different types, but brilliant both. A shame about the marriage is all. Oh, there's Bertie. Scoundrel owes me ten dollars, and I'll have it off him before one of us drops dead." She gave Elizabeth's arm another consoling pat. "And remember what I said, dear. Open membership. If you have trouble selling the idea to the others, remind them of how variety would improve your little private arrangement." She gave a saucy wink and scuttled off across the room, hailing down a bewildered old man who seemed desperate for an exit.

Elizabeth remained in the center of the room, entirely bewildered. She'd been tongue lashed by her husband, blindsided by her sister, and then lost in some senile woman's ramblings about her father and racism. He didn't take care of us. He made me this. The thoughts forced their way into her head right as she caught the flash of black cloth in the corner of her eye. She turned and smiled warmly, "Abigail, I'm so pleased you could come." She didn't acknowledge the brooding thing standing beside her sister. She took her sister's hands in and pulled close for a feigned embrace only to whisper, "Why in fuck are you here?"

"Don't get your panties twisted, sister," Abigail answered. "Nothing to do with you. We're simply celebrating. I've had a wonderful breakthrough in my work. Oh, I suppose it does have a little to do with you. You gave me the idea in the first place." Abigail laced her arm into Elizabeth's and sidled close. To the outside world they appeared to be devoted siblings, but Elizabeth wanted to wrench her arm free and throw her sister to the ground.

"What idea could I have possibly given you?" she asked through a smile. "We don't brainstorm together, after all."

"Never you mind. You might find out one day. But, rest assured, we're here to be diligent Vaughts. Promoting the family name, strengthening the bloodline, and all that." She leaned closer to Elizabeth's ear again, speaking in nothing more than a whisper, "Really, it's just fun to go out wearing no panties. Imagining Greg's fingers sliding against my bare ass as we dance."

Elizabeth jerked back, and Abigail didn't hold her, merely giggled. She glared at Abigail before striding across the room. She spotted Benjamin with the twins and a young man she knew as Jacob Kelly, son of Margot Kelly. Margot's husband died in the war. Elizabeth wasn't sure which one. Jacob had served, leaving as a captain to pursue a career in law. He came from good breeding, had a solid career, and a successful future ahead of him. Which only left one significant problem. Jacob had taken up his father's membership at the club, and Elizabeth had fucked him at least seven times. The last time, she'd taken a heavier than usual dose and spent an hour nearly drowning him in her milk while drawing out a steady fountain of cum.

Jacob spotted the woman who'd made him moan her name, and immediately made the connection between the twins and their mother. Rather than politely excuse himself from the conversation, he looked at both of them with a new hunger. Instantaneously, the foolish young man made an enemy. I won't be having family dinners with a son-in-law who has used my milk as lube to fuck my tits. She scanned the room for a diversion and found one.

"Senator," she said with all her charm. "I didn't see you come in."

Senator Cunningham met her suggestive gaze with one of his own. "Elizabeth, so lovely as always. Why I was in town just yesterday and stopped in to visit some constituents. They were kind enough to invite me out to this little soiree. Never a bad time to grease palms, and it is nice to get away from the District. Company towns can drive you mad if you let them." He distractedly looked to his side where the young woman with him was wrapping up a conversation they'd been in before Elizabeth interrupted. "You remember my daughter, I'm sure." He paused to address the other couple with the gladhanding but firm goodbye perfected by politicians. When they'd gone off, he wheeled his daughter around like a prize pony. "Melanie, this is Mrs. Elizabeth Vaught, remember?"

Elizabeth met the young woman's gaze and saw something odd in it. Color rose to Melanie's cheeks, and she was quick to look at anything other than Elizabeth's eyes. Still, they politely shook hands. "Of course. Why, William, you can't have raised this beautiful young woman. Melanie the last time I saw you, you were a wisp of a thing. I was at your debut. Ah, I remember that beautiful dress. I remember thinking at the time that I wanted something similar for my own girls."

Melanie didn't get a chance to speak as her father boomed over her, "Oh, yes, we saw them earlier. I didn't realize they were so close to Mel in age. I told Mel that she would be wise to make friends." He leaned closer, but didn't alter the volume of his voice and ignored his daughter's half panicked tug on his arm. "She's a bit shy, honestly. Spends all her time off spending my money." He grinned at his daughter as though he'd told some clever joke. "I tell her, it's no way to win a husband. Every man loves a little aloofness to his woman, but you can't catch a husband if none of them can find you to start the chase."

"Ah, but we're of a different generation, senator," Elizabeth said. "The youth these days are consumed by romance. Young women want to find themselves, see the world, and be swept off their feet by Prince Charming. It's our own fault, really, too many fairy tales. But it would be too cruel to tell such precious young girls the butcher's trade that marriage truly is." She cast a glance over at her family and saw with horror as Jacob put a hand on Lydia's arm. "Speaking of which, you're absolutely correct, Senator. It's long past time for our girls to meet."

She feigned looking around and took the chance to pull Cunningham's attention. "The young man talking to my twins. He's not right for our girls. Could you get rid of him?"

"Jacob?" he asked before giving a confident nod.

Elizabeth took Melanie by the hand. The younger woman made a small protest and looked to her father to somehow intervene, but the senator had already started toward the other group. To Elizabeth's irritation, she saw Abigail in florid conversation with Amanda while Benjamin and Gregory seemed to be in an intense conversation. Jacob had pulled Lydia slightly further from the group, and that alone urged Elizabeth on.

The senator reached Jacob and pulled the young man back as Elizabeth walked by. She heard Cunningham say something akin to "why don't you go fuck off" before giving the young man a broad smile and handshake. Elizabeth drew herself up and spoke to Lydia directly while also angling for Amanda's attention, "Girls, I'd like you to meet Melanie Cunningham. She's a city girl who comes from a respectable family, on her mother's side." Elizabeth tried to infuse it with bland humor, but the semicircle of people all looked like she'd ripped off her clothes. Elizabeth held on to Melanie's hand while looking at her daughters for the expected cordial greeting. Lydia finally said something right before the senator joined them.

"Ah, Benjamin. Greg, they drag you out to these things after all. And Abigail, god help the man who has to pick out the prettier of the Vaught sisters," Cunningham made sure to give Elizabeth a wink. The man was oblivious to the odd tension in the air, not that Elizabeth felt any better off. She looked at Abigail and saw that even she was on edge, as though they'd unwittingly tread onto a land mine. Finally feeling the lack of enthusiasm in the group, Cunningham eased his bravado as he greeted the twins.

Elizabeth found herself looking at her husband. He had lost all his loose charisma. He stood rigid, a tendon in his neck straining. The color had left his face, and he was pointedly looking in the middle distance to Elizabeth's side. Of course, they all have to act strangely. Can they not put aside all their grievances for one goddamn moment? She flared her own smile across at her husband and in-laws. It was enough to snatch Benjamin's attention for half a moment, except his gaze locked not on his wife, but to Melanie.

Something happened, Elizabeth knew, but not what. She realized the senator had stopped talking. Cunningham's face was a tangle of indiscriminate rage. Without another word, he snatched Melanie's hand up and pulled her away. They stormed through the party, leaving whispers and speculation in their wake. Confused, Elizabeth turned back to demand an explanation, but saw Gregory strong-arming Benjamin away from the room. Elizabeth took a step to follow, but was cut off by her sister.

The younger Vaught sister looked like a storm about to break as she shook her head, daring Elizabeth to challenge her. Abigail didn't care what others thought of her, and she knew Elizabeth did, for her sake and for the twins. Abigail spoke with stern civility, "You don't know what you've done. The girls are tired. Take them home. I'll play the hostess in your stead."

Elizabeth prepared to mount her protest, but she saw Amanda and Lydia. The former looked bored, and the other looked far too fascinated with the quickly dismissed bastard who obviously wanted to tally the daughter up beside the mother. Elizabeth knew she'd missed something. It gnawed at her and made her uneasy. She feigned a smile. "Well, your aunt says you're tired. Understandable. I'm sorry girls, I thought the crowd would be a little more vivacious. We'll certainly do better on your official debuts. Come along then. I'll have the car called up, and we'll get back in time for a late supper."

The twins looked at their mother with surprised relief. Elizabeth couldn't leave without getting in one last grab at superiority, though. As she sent off her daughters, she turned back to Abigail. "This is my world," she said. "Whatever melodrama you've brought into it, I will find out." She whirled on her heel and headed for the door.

Behind her, Abigail laughed.