* WARNING: This story depicts incestuous relations between two consenting adults. This subject matter may be very disturbing to some people. SUMMARY: One possible explanation of Josiah's extreme behavior in "Penance."

Josiah wasn't too unsteady as he pulled his tall, lean form into the saddle. His father would be gone for another two days and need never know of his youthful indiscretions or excesses in town. But even if he did find out, what was the worst that would happen? Another round of yelled reprimands and condemnations, of being told he was going to Hell for his sins against God?

It had been different when he was a child. A spanking had held much sway over him then, but as he'd grown to his father's height and strength it had been difficult for the man to continue the physical punishments. That's when the preacher had turned to verbal threats of Hell fire and damnation. But, after a while, even those words lost their sting — how many times could a man be sent to Hell? Josiah realized only once. And, if he were already damned for past unholy and irreverent actions, what did it matter if he added more to the list?

He just couldn't live by his overbearing father's strict rules any longer. The man wanted a saint, not a son. And Josiah didn't have the temperament of a holy man.

As he rounded the bend in the road that led to their small cottage, he hoped that his sister Hannah had prepared dinner for him. He hadn't told her when he'd be home — and he knew it was late now — but certainly something could be warmed for him, to fill his stomach which presently held only whiskey and rye.

He was pleased to see the glow of light as he neared; the lantern on the porch was lit for him. Josiah pushed his hat from his head and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, scratching at the faint prickling the lingering affects of the alcohol leant to his scalp.

Suddenly, the full, lantern-lit porch came into view and he saw them, on the bench, tangled together. His sister and some young man he didn't recognize.

Josiah threw his solid but lanky form from his horse and barreled up the steps. He grabbed the boy and pulled him off his sister. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

The young man was stunned with fright. His mouth gaped, opening and closing, but no sound came — he was like a fish surprised to find himself hooked and reeled in. Josiah shook him hard, his long, strong fingers digging into the flesh of the boy's upper arm.

"Don't you ever touch my sister again!" he growled. "I never want to see your face around here again!" Then he hurled the young man toward the steps and watched for a brief moment as the frightened youth took off in a stumbling run.

Josiah then turned toward his sister. Hannah sat on the porch bench, still, stunned by her brother's behavior. Perhaps she hadn't expected it from him — it was, after all, something their father would do. But Josiah was furious and thoughts of the preacher never entered his mind. He scrubbed his hand over the light stubble sprinkled in irregular patches across his jaw, breathing deeply, trying to check his emotions. But, as he looked his sister over and caught sight of her open blouse, his fury raged anew.

He grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. Then he spun and dropped onto the bench, jerking her down in the process until she was sprawled across his lap. His hand shot into the air above them, then came down swiftly, slapping the flesh of her backside. She cried out, and then began to thrash, struggling to stand. He was not older than his sister, but he was bigger and stronger — he had no trouble holding her down as he smacked her backside once more.

But he could hear the diffusion of the contact. Her petticoats protecting her from the punishment she was due. When he'd been younger, and his father had turned him over his knee, it had been with a bare bottom. And it had been rather effective at the time, Josiah recalled.

He pushed Hannah's skirts up to her hips, but kindly left her thin chemise covering her flesh. He then raised his hand again and brought it down quickly, smiling when he heard the crisp smack of contact. Hannah cried out, louder this time, and Josiah could tell it was from pain now, and no longer from mere surprise or indignation.

"You are my sister," he said as he slapped her again, harder this time.

"You will not play the harlot while I am in this house!" Another firm slap and now he could hear Hannah crying.

"You will not allow another man to touch you! You owe your life to God" — his hand fell swiftly — "to our father" — Hannah screamed — "and to me!" — and then she began to sob, her entire body shaking with the effort.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Josiah," she wept. "Please don't strike me again. I'm sorry!"

The tears made her sound small and vulnerable, and Josiah's heart twisted in his chest. His hand froze in mid-air. When they'd been younger, he'd been her protector — taking the blame and the punishment from their father whenever he could, to spare her, because he had always been the stronger one.

"What have I done?" he whispered, all the breath gone from his body. He lowered his hand and began to rub Hannah's wounded flesh. She cried out at the first contact, but soon settled down, her tears still flowing, but her gasping sobs slowly subsiding.

Guilt moved his hand lower, to the hem of her last remaining undergarment. He needed to see the damage he'd inflicted upon his sister. He pushed the thin linen upward, slowly revealing the backs of Hannah's pale thighs. When the curve of her bare buttocks came into view, Josiah stared, transfixed. The skin was red, the exact color he'd so often seen on his own father's angry face. The color his own face must have been as he'd doled out a punishment he had no true right to give.

His fingers hesitantly touched the swollen flesh, tracing the outline of too many blurred handprints marring the soft skin. Slowly, tenderly, he began to rub, to caress, to sooth as Hannah relaxed in his lap — no longer struggling — her arms now folded beneath her, resting beside Josiah's thigh on the bench. He pressed his palm to her buttocks, feeling the lingering heat of his aggression against his skin. Then he slid his hand down, to caress the still pale curve of her buttocks and the creamy flesh of her upper thigh, and he noted the contrasting coolness beneath his fingers.

Being a missionary's son, he hadn't had much experience with women, though any was far more than his father would approved of, but Josiah had never felt a woman's backside before. Never taken the time to appreciate a woman's form, to even think about anything beyond his own immediate needs. They'd all been whores, paid to lay with him, to alleviate his frustrations. What they wanted, what they thought about Josiah never knew, because he never asked — he never cared. But here, in his lap, lay the one woman on God's green earth that he did care about.

His anger at finding her had arisen from seeing her with some stranger whom he knew could not care about her feelings, about her well-being. Not like he cared. He would die to protect Hannah, he knew that in his heart — he would stand up to anyone, including their father at his most fearsome, to spare her — because he had in the past. That she could throw herself away on someone who did not care even half as much as her own flesh and blood did infuriated him.

Josiah felt the sudden need to see her face, to see her repentance, the acknowledgement that she was worth more than what she had just allowed to happen with that young man. He took her by the shoulders and eased her upright, until she was standing before him. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks wet with streaks of tears. She sniffled as she looked down upon him, and he knew she regretted having disappointed him of all people.

He held out his hand to her and she placed her small fingers against his larger ones. He drew her back down, until she was sitting on his lap, and then he eased her against his shoulder as he ran his hand lightly over her long hair. He had always loved his sister, but since the death of their mother, he'd become even more attached. The thought of her straying, or her leaving him for someone else, left him feeling as lost and empty as the day of their mother's funeral.

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I did not mean to hurt you," he whispered against her cheek. "I'll always be here for you. I promise. I'll always care for you."

She nodded her head, as she brought her arm up to encircle his neck, to hug herself closely to him. Then, like a small kitten starved for affection, she began to press her lips gently against his neck. He rubbed his hand over her back, gently caressing, soothing.

Josiah would make it up to her, the harm he'd inflicted. And hopefully she would forgive him, in time.

His hand continued to move in lazy circles over her back, slow slipping lower, until he made contact with the injured flesh of her buttocks again. She sucked in a quick breath of air, tensing, but then relaxed again as he gently rubbed the wounds he'd inflicted.

Hannah settled against him again, then resumed her snuggles, continuing to kiss the smooth skin of his neck, then up his jaw to the spare stubble of his young face. Her hand came up to caress the outer rim of his ear, and the unexpected sensation made him turn his head, suddenly bringing their lips into contact. Josiah pulled back, but Hannah leaned forward, maintaining the unsolicited touch.

Josiah's mind whirled and the earth seemed to tilt beneath him, but it was all suddenly righted as his arm gently tightened around Hannah's waist, drawing her closer. How could she feel so right in his arms? How could he show her how sorry he was for hurting her?

He slipped an arm beneath her knees, and then scooped her up as he stood. He shouldered the front door of their cottage open and carried her toward his bedroom at the back. She continued to snuggle against his neck, kissing him gently as she caressed his cheek and jaw with her delicate fingers.

What was he doing?

His mind suddenly rebelled as he entered his room, the bed looming before them. But she pulled his face to hers and when he looked into her eyes he saw both love and need. Their father demanded respect from them, obedience, but in return he failed to give them the same unconditional love and acceptance their mother had. With her gone, Josiah and Hannah had only each other. And Josiah needed his sister's love as much as she needed his.

He placed her gently on the edge of the bed, and then turned his back. He stripped off his coat and laid it over the chair in the corner, and then he pushed aside his suspenders before undoing the buttons on his shirt. The white fabric was placed on the chair before he leaned over to remove his boots. Then he slid the trousers from his lanky hips and down his long legs before stepping from them.

He drew in a deep breath before turning around to face his sister. Hannah was under the bed covers, and Josiah noted her dress and petticoats folded atop the dresser next to the washbasin. He crossed to her, pausing only for a moment to snuff the flame in the oil lamp, and then he slipped into bed beside her.

He pulled her close into his strong arms, remembering how they had slept like this when they'd been younger, when their hearts had still been painfully raw from the recent loss of their mother. They'd consoled each other then, held each other as she had held them, until a peaceful sleep was possible for them both.

But tonight, Josiah bent his head to Hannah's, placing his lips upon hers, and she responded with a gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. The needs they'd had as children had not disappeared — they'd only multiplied as they'd grown into adults under the firm hand of a stern parent. Josiah wrapped an arm around Hannah's waist, pulling her body into full contact with his.

Hannah's hands trembled as they reached for the placket of his long johns, but his hand was sure as he moved it up her thigh, pushing high her thin chemise. Her skin felt so soft beneath his fingers, like the skin of a ripe peach, and he snuggled his face against her neck. When her fingers pulled away from him, Josiah moved on top of her, easing her legs apart with a gentle knee. Then he reached down and freed himself from the constraints of his undergarment.

He moved himself forward, but stopped as soon as his flesh made contact with hers. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down upon her, studying her eyes. He would not hurt her again, he vowed, and he wanted to make certain that she realized it. But, more importantly, he needed to know that she wanted this affirmation as much as he did. They were alone in the world, isolated because of who their father was, because of his temperament as well as his calling; Josiah would not do this if it might mean losing Hannah.

But, in the faint moonlight streaming through the far window, Josiah saw her smile and nod. She understood. And she needed this, as he did.

He then pushed forward, slowly, gently, pressing steadfastly against her until he was inside. He paused then, as she let out a small gasp. He caressed her cheek until her tightly closed eyes eased, finally fluttering open to meet his. She smiled weakly, unsure of what was to come, but still trusting of her brother. Josiah pushed himself forward again, easing himself deep. Hannah's breaths came in soft, throaty hitches, but she did not cry out, nor did she grimace as if in pain. When Josiah was as one with her, he paused again, and she let out a long sigh. He smiled, remembering how just a single, sympathetic look from her could mitigate whatever conflicts would rage between him and their father. For the simple reason that she understood him, his needs and his frustrations, because she shared them. If only she were as strong as he was.

He brought his lips to hers, gently pressing against the soft moistness. She tasted of tears still, and this realization caused Josiah to deepen the contact. Then, slowly, he began to move inside of her, encouraged as her hands came up to wrap around him, her fingers caressing along the length of his back in small, soothing circles — a comforting touch from their childhood.

He tried to be gentle. He tried to move slowly, and steadily, allowing her time to become accustomed to the new intimacy, even as he himself adjusted to it. For the first time, he was performing this act out of compassion — out of love — and for the first time he started to believe that perhaps the God in heaven was a caring one after all.

As Josiah continued to move into her, Hannah pulled her knees up, encouraging his entry, allowing him more freedom of motion. This, in turn, seemed to ease her comfort as well. He felt her body relax beneath him, even as he felt her hips begin to push up to meet his. Josiah began to move a little faster, as he felt the familiar tension building deep inside of himself. He didn't know if Hannah would feel a similar tension, but he knew she was feeling no pain as her head lulled to the side and sweet utterances spilled from her parted lips.

Never had he felt such love from another, never had he felt such solace. His sister was everything to him. And he felt that nothing could tear them apart after this melding, not even their father and his harsh hand.

But Josiah pushed all conscious thought of his father from his mind. The preacher would return far too soon to renew the conflict that tainted their mortal lives; there was no reason to hasten his return by dwelling upon him now.

Not when he had his beloved sister with him, beneath him, in his arms, sharing in his love. He continued to rock against her, pushing deep, but not hard, until he felt the tension in his body coalesce and then rise. Josiah slipped his arms beneath Hannah, pulling her close as the evidence of his devotion filled her.

As he eased his spent body down beside his sister, he reassured her once more with gentle, caressing kisses across her brow. "I will take care of you, always."

Hannah smiled at him and, even in the darkness that blanketed them, Josiah could see her returned affection shining in her clear, blue eyes.

- the end -