Goodnight Grace

She had been bruised, battered and violated. Yet every instant of anguish had been paid in full in ecstatic pleasure. Before that night she had never imagined such dark pleasures existed. Now her eyes were truly open. There was no going back. But she couldn't linger before the looking glass for long. Searching for her clothes, she found them in a wrinkled heap on the floor.

She dressed in a hurry, knowing that her Papa would be expecting his supper as usual. Surveying the pantry, the dutiful daughter considering what to make. Potatoes, butter, salt pork, - were those parsnips? They must have stowed away in a sack of potatoes. She would never have intentionally bought parsnips because Owen made it well known how much he detested them. He said they made him itch like he'd been beset by a swarm of gad flies.

Looking at the long yellow tubers, Grace's eyes took on the same calculating twinkle as her Papa's. She acted on an idea as soon as it was formed and went about making supper as usual. As she chopped and stirred and boiled it almost felt like any other day except for the occasional shudder of anticipation that shook her. She prepared the meal in a kind of fevered trance. Before she knew it the clock on the mantel was striking noon. Owen would be home any minute. She hummed a merry tune while adding the last touches to Papa's supper; a simmering pot of parsnip soup.

Grace couldn't wait to discover what curious punishment this would earn her.