Winds of Nightsong. V. J. Banis

Owning a distillery may be profitable, but it isn’t considered very upstanding in the eyes of New York society. I wish I could give you more.”

      “You’ve given me everything I ever wanted, Sean. You know how much I hate those snobs I went to school with. I despised the way Mother made us live.”

      “Speaking of your mother, I’m going out to the coast next week. I suppose I’ll have to stop off and pay my respects or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

      “She’ll be just as uncomfortable with you as you’ll be with her, if that’s any consolation. And if you don’t want to see Mother, I won’t care.”

      “Why don’t you come with me?”

      “As much as I’ll miss you, I think I’d rather stay here.”

      “Maybe I’ll take Lorrie. She’s always pestering us to send her to her grandmother’s.”

      “I want Lorrie kept away from my mother. Our daughter is enough of a little prig as it is. Mother would only encourage her snobbish tendencies.”

      “I know what you mean, love, but that girl drives me up the wall. Maybe it would be best for all concerned if we sent her to that school your mother is always raving about.”

      “I don’t know, Sean. I truly believe it will only make Lorrie worse than she is now.”

      “She can’t get any worse. She’s unhappy with us, you must admit that. She doesn’t approve of you and your suffragettes or factory workers. And I know she’s ashamed of what her father does for a living.”

      “I’ll think about it, darling.” Susan bit down on her lower lip, knowing he was right. There hadn’t been much peace in the house since Lorrie’s visit to her grandmother’s last year. Lorna had been a terrible influence on the girl. However, perhaps it would be best for everyone if Lorrie were with her own kind, pretentious little brats who thought they were better than everyone else.

      “Did you say you’re leaving next week?” Susan asked.

      Sean stubbed out his cigarette. “Friday, if everything goes according to plan.”

      Susan was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I’ve been thinking about that fire at the shirtwaist company, Sean. You know, the one where all those people died.”

      He nodded.

      “We both agree that working conditions in those places are dreadful. Someone has got to stand up for those poor people who work for peanuts.”

      “They can’t even afford peanuts,” he said. “But you know damned well, Susan, the owners will never tolerate even the mention of a union, if that’s what you’re thinking about.”

      “I realize that. Yet someone from the outside has got to get on the inside and make the public aware of what conditions there are really like.”

      “And I suppose you intend to be that ‘someone’?”

      “I could pass myself off as some poor wretch who needs a job, and once I was working there I could try to get something organized.”

      “I don’t want you getting involved with those sweatshop owners. It’s too dangerous.”

      “Nobody need know who I am.”

      “I know you, my girl. You’ll start instigating trouble the first day on the job. Now I’m giving you an order, wife. You are not to go near those sweatshops. Do I make myself clear?”

      She didn’t answer.

      “Susan,” he warned, wagging his finger at her.

      “I only want to see what it’s like inside one of those places.”

      “Hell,” he breathed. “You’ll do what you want, I know.” He flopped back on the pillows. “You’re a headstrong, spoiled little dickens. Now I’m warning you, love, if you get yourself into any kind of a mess, don’t come running to me to get you out of it.”

      She knew he didn’t mean that. She traced the outline of his jaw with the tip of her finger. “Do you mean you wouldn’t take me in if I came begging?” Her hand moved over his chest and down across his abdomen to cup his flaccid penis, which immediately started to harden again.

      “Stop that.”

      “No.”

      He chuckled, giving himself up to her manipulations. “All right, then don’t stop.”

      “I have no intention of doing so.” His penis grew harder and longer and thicker as she moved her hand up and down the shaft.

      “You’re going to kill me, you know that.”

      “You’re good for another hundred years.”

      “Not if you don’t stop torturing me this way.”

      She lowered her head and took him into her mouth, pulling the shaft deep into her throat. She came off it and said, “You love it and you know it.”

      “Aye, lass, that I do,” he said, then grabbed her and kissed her hard on the mouth. “You’re going to get laid again, you know.”

      “I hope so, you dumb Irish Mick.”

      * * * *

      At dinner that evening, which was always an informal affair—family-style, Sean liked to call it—Lorrie sat pouting, glaring at the bowls of potatoes and vegetables, the platter of meat, the boat of gravy sitting in the middle of the table.

      “I simply cannot understand why we can’t have the servants wait table,” Lorrie said as she sullenly helped herself to a piece of meat. “We dine like peasants.”

      “We dine very well,” her father reminded her.

      “Yeah,” her younger brother, David, put in. “I don’t like all those different knives and forks and having to take whatever is put on my plate.”

      “You’re a cretin.”

      Petie, who was nine, asked, “What’s a cretin?”

      “An idiot, a fool,” Lorrie sneered.

      “That will be enough, Lorrie,” Susan said calmly. “We are all hearty and healthy enough to serve ourselves without taxing the help. They work hard enough as it is to keep us comfortable.”

      “Grandmother would never tolerate this,” Lorrie complained as she began picking daintily at her food. “We don’t even use salad forks.”

      “One fork is as good as another,” her father reminded her. “It all goes into the same mouth.”

      “That’s revolting.”

      “And you are becoming a perfect little snoot, Lorrie,” Susan said, losing her patience.

      Lorrie jutted out her chin. “I want to live with Grandmother. At least she lives like a civilized human being.”

      Sean decided to tease her. “Your mother and I have been thinking that perhaps you’ve been associating with the wrong type of friends, Lorrie. After you graduate from school I think I’ll find you a job with me at one of my distilleries.”

      Lorrie was horrified. “Work? In a brewery? I’d rather die.”

      Sean smiled. “Oh, it wouldn’t be very hard work. Perhaps somewhere in the bottling department where all you’d have to do is check to make sure the capping machines are operating correctly.”

      “Father!” Lorrie gasped. “You wouldn’t?”

      Sean laughed. “Calm down, girl. I was only having a bit of fun with you. When you’re finished with school I’ll have you sent to one of those finishing schools you’re so anxious to attend.”

      “Grandmother says there is a very fine one near San Francisco.”

      Susan