That very afternoon, after the hands had come in from the fields and Roscoe had made notations in his record book of the weight of cotton each man and woman had picked that day, they drifted off chattering to their cabins, the younger children who were not required to work trailing after them. The weighing and recording provided the main event of the day, and the children liked to be present to share in the suspense of rivalries and the jokes that were shouted. (“Strong-Tom picked two hundred and fourteen pounds yesterday, but Strong-Tom must have had a night that weakened him, because he picked only a hundred and eighty-three today. What you got to say about that, Lottie?”)

When almost everyone had gone from the entrance of the barn where the cotton was stored, Roscoe sat and added up the day’s total yield. As he was about to close his book, checking the total one more time against yesterday’s, Clovis walked by him and into the barn. He looked at her with surprise, knowing that she was usually helping in the kitchen at this time of day. He glanced around. There was no one but the girl. “Can I help you find something?” he called. Appearing not to hear, she made no reply but went farther into the barn where it was now darkly shadowed.

Roscoe followed and found her lying on her back on a pile of cotton. Without speaking he sat down beside her and began to handle her, hold her, press her. Clovis responded, partly at the novelty of being touched by a man she did not truly fancy, of whom she even felt a certain physical revulsion, a flesh-crawling that was not unpleasant because it was new to her.

One thing led to another, as she had expected it would, but when finally he turned her over, and after slicking his dick with spit, tried to penetrate her behind, she cried out and began to fight him. He was strong and held her, but when he penetrated her with a brutal push of his hips, the shock of it set her to whimpering and then screaming. He clamped a hand over her mouth, keeping his position, but she fought more fiercely, and he was put off the mood and suddenly let her go.

As fast as she could she tugged her clothes on, running and weeping. In that state she had appeared in the kitchen; and when Lovey, who was debating with Cook the meals to be served tomorrow, could not calm her, or even make sense of what she said in her increasing hysteria, she had felt compelled to go to the dining room and summon her mistress. Realizing that she was about to be confronted by the mistress, Clovis fled to her cabin where she bathed her face and hands, still weeping angrily.

With a pretty, prissy mince, Myrtis went into the dining room and served the blancmange.

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