The Legacy, Chapter 1: Three Oaks - Sex Stories

The Legacy, Chapter 1: Three Oaks

... always have been a stubborn one; even as a child you always had a mind of your own!” He stopped, lost in his thoughts for a moment. “Your daddy was a good man.” “They both were good people, Henry, momma and daddy. I still miss them.” “Me too, Miss Elizabeth, me too; wonderful friends. They were so good to us when my Mary took sick, and then she outlived them both, because of a god damned drunk driver.” She nodded, understanding his hurt and anger. He seldom swore, but she still sometimes felt the same rage and pain about the way her parents had died, so she understood his vehemence. “They loved you too, Henry, you and Miss Mary; you’ve always been like family.” She paused for several seconds. “It’s been almost three years since your wife passed, hasn’t it?” He looked sideways at her, touched that she remembered, awed as always to see what a beautiful woman she’d grown up to be, the setting sun glinting off her golden hair. “You have a good memory, Miss Elizabeth. Three years tonight – tomorrow morning, actually; it was three seventeen in the morning when the cancer finally took her.” “You miss her terribly.” It was a statement, not a question. He nodded. “I do. Every day, but I have to look at the forty-two wonderful years we had together, and our three boys that made her – both of us - so proud. And I’m so happy that she got to see her first grandchild born before she left us.” Henry was now a grandfather twice over, to a four year-old grandson and a new baby granddaughter, ...

... both born to Henry’s eldest son and his wife. He shook his head, as if to shake away the regrets. “But you can’t live in the past, Miss Elizabeth, that’s yesterday; you have to live for today, and be excited about the glorious new world of possibilities that tomorrow might bring.” She looked wistful for a moment. “It seems so quiet around here now, with her and my parents gone, and your three boys scattered across the country. Do you realize, Henry, that after two hundred and nineteen years of Pettigrews on this land, you and I are the last two?” He chuckled. “And technically you’re a Bishop now, since you married Mr. Robert, so that makes me the last one unless one of my sons comes back home.” She smiled. They’d had this argument before, that since she’d married Robert Bishop she was no longer a Pettigrew. “Henry! You know I’ll always be a Pettigrew!” He nodded, smiling. “Well, you do have the family bull-headedness, and you are a pretty thing; all of the women in your family have been very beautiful…and jackass stubborn.” She blushed, laughing. “Thank you, Henry – I think!” She looked around, at the front of her home, the old timber and log farmhouse that she loved so much, and at the bare spot where the old manor had stood, and then beyond, back toward the woods, to where the stone chimneys of the old slave cabins still rose from the thick brush like sentinels from a lost and shameful era; it was as if they were on guard to ensure that such things never happened again. She ...