The Golden Penrod: Part 1

The Golden Penrod
By Darjeeling

Part One

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the English countryside and on the freely flowing tresses of Nevaeh Covington as she stood up from the task of milking her beloved cow, Aydyn. She patted the gentle animal on its rump and began a leisurely walk back to the small, tidy stone house she shared with her mother. She swayed slightly as she traveled along the soft grass, both from the weight of the full milk pail and the burden of her ripe, overflowing womanliness. Her high, plump bosom strained against the thin fabric of her bodice, the twin orbs bobbing impatiently as they made unsuccessful attempts to escape their prison.

Nevaeh never failed to be slightly downhearted after a visit with Aydyn, the mere sight of whom stunned her mistress with thick waves of memories. The quiet creature was a gift to his only child from Nevaeh's adoring father Samuel Covington, purchased on a trip to Ireland. Upon receiving the young calf, the adolescent Nevaeh promptly gave her the most beautiful name she knew.

"We are not Irish!" Samuel laughingly protested. "And that is a cow, not a bull. You must give her a name fit for an English female."

"I like Irish names," Nevaeh pouted. "And it is a female name! It has two Ys in it. I like it and that is all that matters. I do not care for the opinions of others!" Samuel continued to chuckle over his daughter's stubbornness as both girl and calf grew into beautiful adults. The last morning Nevaeh saw her father, he jokingly proclaimed that he would return from his trip up north with a bull whom Nevaeh could christen Diana. Nevaeh's mother Anne stoutly replied that both she and their daughter looked forward to it. Nevaeh was in the highest of spirits that day, being lovingly ensconced in the safe warmth of her close family.

Whether or not Samuel intended to bring home a companion for Aydyn was never known to his wife and daughter. He was mercilessly chewed to an unrecognizable pulp by a one-eyed shark in front of his horrified companions as they enjoyed a friendly fishing excursion on the last day of Samuel's trip. His lifelong friend Sir Geoffrey Belcher was a witness to Samuel's death and the bearer of the tragic news to the family. Anne had collasped into a tearful, wailing heap on the kitchen floor while Nevaeh sat at the table, shaken to her core and rendered immovable by the combination of sudden grief and mammoth physicality.

Now Nevaeh forced the memory from her mind as she reached the back door of her home. She entered the small but inviting kitchen, closing the door behind her and carefully placing the pail of warm milk on the small wooden table. She dropped into a chair, hoping to rest for a moment before departing on a promised walk to town for a visit with her suitor, the Reverend John Hayes.

She leaned back in the chair, mindlessly twirling her hair around one finger and enjoying the recollection of her first meeting with John. Had it really been only four months that she and her mother had walked to the little chapel, eager to hear a sermon by the new parson? Ah, poor John. He was barely able to choke out a welcome to his congregation before being overtaken with a fit of wheezing that knocked him to the floor. His parishioners had quickly gathered round the sick man, frightened that he was breathing his last. When his fit had subsided and he was able to rise, his watery eyes met those of a strapping fiery-haired lass who gazed at him with silent concern. Nevaeh would always recall this moment as the first time she experienced raw, lusting desire.

Pushing her chair back and steadying herself with one hand on the table, Nevaeh rose slowly and walked to the medicine chest against the wall. She opened a top drawer and extracted a small brown bottle. She ran her fingers along the edges of the cork keeping the contents safe, smiling at the thought of John Hayes taking a few drops of the medicine every morning and, one day, not needing to.

"This is going to make you well, my darling," she said softly. "You will breathe strongly and regularly." Nevaeh was troubled by the fear that John might not have the respiratory fortitude to last the length of their honeymoon, or even the first night. John was a good man, and Nevaeh was determined that he have the robust health and searing passion he deserved. It would be the highest honor of her life to secure that for him, in the present with her homemade medicine and in the future with her eager body.

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