Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  At the far end of the porch was the well he had mentioned, constructed of stone and wood. But that was not all that she took note of. Where the back steps ended, flat stones had been laid close together, forming a winding path that ranged far beyond the cabin. A variety of rain-drenched spring flowers and herbs, tucked in here and there among blooming shrubs and fruit trees, bordered both sides of the meandering lane. A short distance away, a lean-to filled to capacity with cords of wood buttressed a small smokehouse. Beside it, dirt had been piled to form a generous knoll, at the front of which was a door that obviously served as an opening to a root cellar. Farther on, in the midst of a chicken yard, a henhouse had been equipped with cubbyholes lined along the side in a neat row, allowing for easy removal of eggs from the nests. Nearby, a shed had been built to accommodate two fenced pastures, one for a pair of horses, the other for a cow and a nursing calf. At the far end of the walk was a large, tin-roofed structure nestled in among the trees.

  “That’s where the men and I make the furniture,” Gage announced, waving a hand in the general direction. “There’s a large shed behind it where we season some of the wood that we use for building the ship and making the furniture.”

  “Daddee!” Andrew called worriedly from the cabin.

  “I’m coming, Andy,” Gage answered promptly, and pulled a rope out of the well, drawing forth a jug of milk. He hooked a finger through the handle, swung the door open for Shemaine, and eyed her tightly garbed bosom as she turned away. The subtle swing of her skirts held his gaze as she swept through the back room.

  Returning to the table, Gage set the jug down, but stood waiting beside the bench. It was a full moment before Shemaine realized he was expecting her to sit down. At her questioning glance, he swept a hand invitingly toward the bench nearest her.

  “Here in this cabin, Shemaine, we all eat together. You’ll be treated as one of the family in my house and by all of those who enter in.”

  Sliding onto the polished plank of the seat, Shemaine meekly clasped her hands together in her lap and whispered gratefully, “Thank you, Mr. Thornton.”

  “Gage . . . my name is Gage.” He sat down across from her, but he still couldn’t trust himself to look at her too long, for fear of kindling desires that he would be hard-pressed to subdue. He had never owned a bondslave before, much less a woman, and although he had heard of masters ignoring the injunctions that forbade the rape and abuse of their indentured servants, he preferred not to add his name to their number. “Everybody calls me that. You should, too. I don’t like being called Mr. Thornton . . . except by my enemies.”

  Hating the tears that welled in her eyes, Shemaine managed a small, submissive nod as she struggled to keep them hidden. “If that is your wish . . . Gage.”

  He passed the plate of crumpets across the table. “Now eat, Shemaine. You’re too thin to my way of thinking.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Andrew had followed this dialogue with interest, glancing from one to the other. Then he leaned close to the table and peered up at Shemaine inquisitively as she sat with her head bowed. Feeling the youngster’s stare, she hurriedly blinked at the moisture blurring her vision and bravely bestowed a smile upon him. Curiously he looked toward his father.

  “Sheeaim cry, Daddee.”

  Helplessly Shemaine lifted her head and met the probing gaze of the man as tiny rivulets flowed freely down her cheeks. Considering how resolutely she had defied Morrisa’s and Gertrude’s attempts to see her humiliated and destroyed, she could hardly believe that she could lose control of herself just because someone was showing a bit of kindness to her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorn—” She halted, fearing her composure would crumple altogether if she corrected herself and used the more familiar form of address. She struggled to explain. “I didn’t . . . expect to be treated so well. ‘Tis been nigh to four months or more since I’ve heard a kind word spoken to me or had a gentleman open a door for me or to even stand until I was seated. I’m greatly embarrassed by my crying, sir . . . but I just can’t seem to help myself.”

  Gage reached into his pants pocket, withdrew a clean handkerchief, and passed it to her. Then he rose and stepped away as she dabbed at her eyes. Opening the cupboard, he took out a pair of small mugs, poured milk nigh to the brim of one and then splashed a smaller amount into the other. Upon his return to the table, he passed her the full mug with an exhortation. “Drink it down, Shemaine. You need the milk more than tea. ‘Twill help calm you.” He sliced open another crumpet, spread both sides with fruit preserves, and then placed them on a second plate, which he set before her. “Enjoy your crumpets, girl. They smell wonderful.”

  Shemaine laughed despite her tears and noticed a brief smile chase across Gage’s lips as he stared back at her. For some reason, it lightened her heart and spirits to see that meager easing of his stern demeanor. Obediently she sipped from the mug, finding the milk cold and delicious, and then eagerly nibbled the crumpets. Andrew drank noisily from the other mug, which his father helped to hold. Afterward, Gage poured tea for himself and began to partake of the cakes. They ate in silence for a moment, each enjoying the sumptuous fare. Then, with casual deliberation, Gage set about to ease his bondslave’s tension with a tale of a bear that had pestered him for a while a few years ago.

  “Ol’ One Ear was an incredibly mean critter, hated people intensely, no doubt because he had lost an ear to a trapper who had barely escaped with his life. He ventured onto my property several times without doing much harm, but one early frosty morning after leaving the privy, I surprised Ol’ One Ear trying to get to a young calf that I had bought earlier in the spring. I guess he had planned to break his morning fast with it, and when I came out and interrupted him, it enraged him. It didn’t take me long to realize that Ol’ One Ear wanted revenge, at the very least a bite out of my hide. I had left my musket in the cabin, and he stood there in front of me, just daring me to make a move. I was basically defenseless, with nothing but my breeches on. Victoria heard all the racket the bear was making and came running out the back door with my loaded muzzle-loader. She was nearly full term with Andrew by then, but she didn’t hesitate. The bear swung around to charge her, but she laid the stock against her shoulder and blew a hole right between his eyes.” A smile flashed almost as swift as the blink of an eye. “That’s how we got a bear rug for the bedroom floor. I tanned the skin and put it on Victoria’s side of the bed. It kept her feet from getting chilled that next winter when she had to get up during the night to nurse Andrew.”

  Though Shemaine’s eyes were still red, the tears had stopped, and the green orbs were warmly animated behind long, wetly spiked lashes. Bracing a thin elbow on the table, she dropped her chin into her palm and grinned back at him. “I think you’d better teach me how to fire a musket, Mr. Thornton, for your safety as well as mine.”

  “Hopefully before the week is out,” Gage replied as a responding smile flitted across his lips.

  When the light repast drew to an end, Shemaine rose and began to gather up the dishes while Gage washed Andrew’s face and hands and took the boy up in his arms. The youngster yawned and laid his head upon his father’s shoulder as Gage made his way into the bedroom. When he stepped out again, Gage closed the door gently behind himself. Taking the jug of milk from the table, he returned it to the well and then came back to the kitchen carrying a small crock.

  “This is a salve I use on anything that needs softening or healing,” he told his bondslave. “It also works on more serious wounds, but I use it mainly on calluses, scrapes, and the like.” Taking off the lid, he approached the wooden sink, where Shemaine was presently washing dishes, and held out the crock for her to look inside. “I was thinking it may help soothe some of those red weals around your wrists and ankles.”

  Shemaine put away the last dish in the cupboard and then peered down into the jar, finding a translucent ointment with a dark yellowish cast. One small whiff of it, however, made her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

&nbs
p; “I know. The smell is enough to kill a skunk,” Gage quipped. “But it will do everything I said it would.”

  Trying not to shudder, Shemaine glanced up at him. “What should I do with it?”

  “Actually, it needs to be really rubbed into the chafed skin. If you’d allow me, I think I’d be able to work it in better.”

  Shemaine felt a warmth creep into her cheeks at the idea of a man doing such a service for a lady, and hastened to deny his request. “Oh, I don’t think that would be proper, sir.”

  “Why not, may I ask?” Gage questioned curtly. When he had no other purpose in mind but to help her, he could find little sympathy for her views on propriety. “Your wrists and ankles need attention, Shemaine, and putting this salve on them isn’t going to jeopardize your virtue in the least. Believe me, girl, you’ll know it if I ever set my mind on compromising your modesty, because I won’t start with your wrists or your ankles.” His eyes dipped to her tautly garbed bosom, as if pointedly denoting the place where he’d begin, and then just as quickly rose to meet her astonished stare.

  Shemaine closed her mouth, realizing it had sagged open. It certainly didn’t help her composure to feel a scalding heat creeping into her cheeks. Self-consciously she crossed her arms in front of her, wishing the gown wasn’t so tight. Though her protest wasn’t exactly the truth, she declared it as such. “I-I c-can assure you, Mr. Thornton, that concern for my virtue was the farthest thing from my mind!”

  A brief twitch served as substitute for a skeptical smile. “Then you’re far different than most of the young women I’ve come in contact with in this area. There are many who think a widower is in such dire straits that he’s liable to throw up the nearest skirt and have his way with a maid, by force if need be.” Gage noticed her cheeks were now flaming and wondered if she was offended by his rather crude statement or if his needling had touched upon the truth. “Believe me, Shemaine, I’m a little more selective than that.”

  “So am I, sir!” Shemaine raised her chin in an obstinate huff. “And if I’m permitted to object to being likened to the other women you’ve met here, I can promise you that I’m an individual, sir, not prone to falling prostrate at any man’s feet. Believe me, I’ll be quite content to live out my days of service to you as an unsullied spinster. And I’ll keep my wrists and ankles to myself, if you don’t mind!”

  An angry quirk tightened the corners of Gage’s mouth as he stretched out a hand and settled the jar in her grasp. “If you should decide otherwise, Shemaine, I’ll be happy to accommodate you . . . without compromising your virginity.”

  Pivoting about-face, he strode from the room and went out through the back entrance, causing Shemaine to jump as the door slammed loudly behind him. Of a sudden, her anger fled, to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and worry. She could have acted more wisely, she chided herself. She didn’t have to make it so clear to the man that she was afraid of him touching her with those nice, lean, beautiful hands.

  Andrew began to whimper in the next room, perhaps having been awakened by the banging of the door. Shemaine hurried to the bedroom door, pushed it carefully open, and looked in. The boy was curled on his side in the middle of the four-poster with a coverlet spread over him. His eyes were closed, but a frown puckered his little brows. The corners of his mouth were downturned as he issued a soft, dejected mewl. Tiptoeing to the bed, she leaned across and slowly stroked the boy’s face as she began to sing an Irish lullaby. The frown faded almost instantly, and his breathing deepened. Then with a serene sigh, he sprawled on his back and drifted soundly off to sleep. Humming softly, Shemaine covered the boy again and then turned to leave.

  Her heart leapt nearly out of her bosom when her eyes fell on the darkly garbed form framed in the doorway. Gage stood there in a relaxed mode with a shoulder braced against the jamb, looking for all the world as if he had been watching her for some time. The idea brought the heat rushing back into her cheeks as she tried to recall her actions over the last several moments. Unable to imagine what had compelled him to observe her without making his presence known, she hurried to the portal, intending to leave him to the privacy of his bedroom, but to her dismay, he made no move to retreat.

  Finding her path completely blocked by his tall, broad-shouldered frame, Shemaine lifted her eyes to his, totally aware of how puny her strength was compared to his. If he decided to exert his will upon her, she knew well enough how it would end. With thumping heart she waited until he backed around into the parlor, finally allowing her an avenue of escape. Relief flooded through her as she stepped through the door. Aware of his proximity, she would have slipped quickly away, but as she passed he caught her arm, sending a multitude of anxious emotions catapulting through her. Now that the son was asleep, Shemaine was instantly alert to the possibility that the father might consider the moment favorable for launching an assault upon her person, which would force her to defend herself by whatever meager means were at her disposal. Though his grip was gentle, it was tantamount to being snared by a dreaded gaoler who had power to take her life or to free her. Fearing the worst, she braced herself as she cautiously met his gaze.

  “Did you want something of me, Mr. Thornton?”

  Gage leaned behind her, causing her to stiffen apprehensively, but he only pulled the bedroom door gently closed. “I came back to apologize,” he said quietly as he straightened. “I know that you’ve been through a lot, and that Captain Fitch had a yearning to buy you and make you his mistress behind his wife’s back, but not all men are like that. I shouldn’t have baited you as I did, Shemaine. I’m sorry.”

  Shemaine stared at him in amazement. That’s all he wanted to do? To apologize? Didn’t he know he came nigh to frightening a full score of years off her life?

  Shemaine smiled with difficulty, somewhat embarrassed because she had panicked and, without provocation, imagined that he had wanted to bed down with her, as if he might have found her irresistible. As he had already indicated, the fact that he was a widower didn’t necessarily mean that he was also a lecher. Besides, he had said he thought her much too thin.

  As her heart eased its frantic beating and her reasoning slowly returned, Shemaine was able to comprehend more fully what he had actually said to her and was somewhat surprised by his keen perception. Captain Fitch had thought himself shrewd in his efforts to arrange a tryst, but here was a total stranger who had detected his plan right away. Perhaps Gertrude Fitch was not as astute as she had imagined herself to be.

  Still struggling with a copious measure of chagrin, Shemaine lowered her gaze as she responded demurely to his apology. “It doesn’t make me feel any better knowing you had probable cause to take offense at my childishness, Mr. Thornton. All I was concerned about was how inappropriate it was for an unmarried gentleman like yourself to tend a lady’s wrists and ankles. I realize now that you only meant to help me.”

  And not to rape me! she added mutely, mentally chiding herself.

  “I’d like to,” Gage reassured her gently, snatching her gaze upward as his reply intruded on the very heels of her whimsical thought. By dint of will, Shemaine curbed her unruly fantasies and disciplined herself to be more attentive to what her master was saying, lest she fall prey to her own illusions. His voice was strong, yet cajoling. “I believe the salve will soothe away much of the redness.”

  “Then you may.” With that calmly spoken commitment, Shemaine released her breath in a wavering sigh, braving a smile. “But do be careful about my ankles. Jacob Potts yanked me off my feet today, and I’m not sure which is more bruised, my backside or my ankles.”

  The barest hint of a grin defied that prevalently somber visage. “I’d be happy to massage both areas if you’d like.”

  No sooner had Shemaine managed to gain control of her wandering imagination than he dashed her efforts to smithereens. It was no wonder she found herself susceptible to thinking the worst! His unpredictable humor encouraged such imprudent speculations!

  The green eyes f
ixed a blatantly suspicious stare upon the handsome man as she dared to test the precise depth of his mettle. “If I were to guess the origin of those brief glimpses I’ve seen of your humor, Mr. Thornton, I’d be of a mind to swear that you were stolen away as a wee babe by the little people, who took great delight in training you to tease the warts off a toad.”

  Her farfetched conjecture drew a genuine chuckle from the man. “And here I was thinking it was the stone I had kissed at Lord Blarney’s castle,” he countered, and swept a hand to indicate the rocking chair in front of the hearth. “Sit there, Shemaine, and I’ll rub this concoction into your skin.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand myself when you’re through,” she mumbled through an exaggerated groan. “The stench is enough to turn my stomach.” Suddenly suspicious of his motives, she peered at him sharply. “You’re not trying to make a fool of me with that stuff, are you?”

  His eyes sparkled tantalizingly. “I’d certainly be able to sniff you out if you decided to run away.”

  Shemaine turned promptly about, intending to make good her escape right then and there, but with an evanescent chuckle, Gage caught her wrist and tugged her back.

  “Come, Shemaine. I’m only doing what the wee little people taught me to do so well. Being as Irish as you are, do you not ken when a body is teasing you?”

  She tossed her head in rampant distrust. “At various times I’ve been able to understand why the English hate the Irish so much, for surely they can pester the devil himself ‘til he screams. In this case, however, I think the roles have been reversed.”

  The amber-flecked brown eyes gleamed back at her, reflecting the firelight as well as a warmth that burned from within. “Have no fear, Shemaine,” he urged. “The ointment can be washed off after I’ve massaged it into your skin, but even before then, it begins to lose some of its odor.”