Gage tossed a perturbed scowl toward the woman. He was sure she saw prospects for matrimony in every unattached couple she crossed paths with, but he knew only too well the risks of the widow expressing such ideas about town. With Roxanne threatening to incriminate him, her hopeful chatter could well prove his undoing. “Don’t make it out to be more than what it was, Mary Margaret.”
The Irish woman smiled sweetly, taking his rebuke in stride. For as long as she could remember, Gage Thornton had been persistently reticent about himself and shrugged off praise as if it were the plague. He had once saved a four-year-old girl from drowning in the river, but when her parents and most of the townsfolk, who had witnessed his daring rescue from shore, had tried to cheer and clap him on the back, he had handed the child over to her mother with a strong admonition to watch the youngster in the future. Then he had strode through their midst, pausing only to pick up his musket and pack, which he had tossed aside before plunging into the river. After sliding his canoe into the water, he had taken his leave in the same aloof manner that people had come to expect of him.
The fact that he was disinclined to let the girl know that he had nearly uprooted the whole circle of men to get to her side made Mary Margaret wonder about his reasons. Was he embarrassed by his warrior spirit? Or was he averse to having others suspect that, like all the other men who might admire Shemaine and feel a strong attraction to her, he was perhaps one who found himself hopelessly smitten?
Mary Margaret smiled at the idea that the tall, rugged man was so vulnerable. It only affirmed that he was human, a trait that many in the hamlet had voiced doubts about. But such judgments had been made from a distance by those who snooped and spied from behind shaded windows, much like those plump hens in the apothecary shop, for none who really knew the man had ever spoken harshly of him.
Now Gage Thornton had a new enemy, Mary Margaret mused, thinking of the tar wallowing in the mudhole. But hopefully this one would be gone in a few weeks. “ ‘Tis sure I am that Mr. Potts will be seeking vindication now that he has been made the laughingstock o’ the village. Indeed, he’ll be ready ta kill us all if anyone happens ta call him ‘Mudsucker’ in his presence.”
Gage’s disposition softened a trifle, and a grin passed briefly across his lips. “After being laughed out of town, I doubt that Jacob Potts will ever want to show his face again in Newportes Newes.”
Shemaine scoffed. “It has been my experience that Mr. Potts pays back double for any offense he has been subjected to. He’ll not rest until he avenges himself.”
“Then the two o’ ye will likely be seein’ the man again,” Mary Margaret predicted somberly “because ye both shamed him ta the core. Imagine! A little slip o’ girl givin’ that big hulk a proper threshin’! An’ if that wasn’t enough, her master bootin’ him inta the muck. Potts’s pride has suffered mightily under yer insults. He’ll not be able ta live it down for years ta come.”
Gage rose from the lounge and faced the elder, desiring to change the subject for Shemaine’s sake. “I have business to take care of while I’m here in town. If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, Mary Margaret, I’d like to leave Shemaine with you for a while so she can rest.”
“ ‘Twill be a delight ta have her as a guest in me home,” the elder avowed. “And I’d consider it an honor if ye’d let Andrew stay with me, too. He’s such a good boy, I love ta have him around. I’ll even cook us up a bit o’ food, so ye needn’t fret they’ll go hungry afore ye get back.”
“Your kindness is appreciated, madam.” Gage glanced around in search of the storekeeper, who, at the moment, was nowhere in sight. “If you’ll excuse me, I must find Mr. Foster and thank him before we take our leave.”
Mrs. McGee casually indicated the rear of the store. “I believe Adam was headin’ toward the back the last time I saw him.”
Gage completed his mission in short order and returned to escort the women outside. Once in the wagon, Shemaine took Andrew on her lap to make room for Mary Margaret on the seat beside her. Gage climbed in and, slapping the reins, set the mare in motion. They traversed the road through Newportes Newes and, a few moments later, halted in front of a small, quaint cottage located on the outskirts of the hamlet. Gathering Andrew in his arms, Gage accompanied the two women to the door, measuring his pace to the careful steps of his bondswoman, who refused his assistance. After seeing her settled, he took his leave in the wagon, pledging to return as soon as he could.
Three hours later, Gage finished loading supplies in the wagon, having been enlisted to make several dining pieces for a wealthy woman from Richmond. With the order, he had been able to recoup almost half of what he had spent for Shemaine’s papers. It relieved the strain on his budget considerably, and he was confident that progress would again be made in a good, timely order on the ship.
He returned to the Widow McGee’s cottage and was silently motioned into the interior by the elder. She laid a finger across her lips and pointed to a closed door down the hall.
“Shemaine laid down with Andrew ta put him ta sleep ’bout an hour ago,” she whispered softly. “Since then, I haven’t heard a peep from either o’ them.”
Gage stepped quietly to the portal and, after a light knock that gained no response, turned the handle and pushed the door slowly inward. The sight that greeted him warmed his heart as it had not been warmed in many months, and he crept forward carefully to bask in the wonder of the scene. Shemaine and Andrew were both sleeping soundly. Sharing the same pillow, they were cuddled spoon fashion in the middle of the bed with Andrew on his side with his back against the girl’s chest. Her cheek rested against his curls and her arm lay over him, like a mother with her son.
“Would ye be carin’ for a cup o’ tea, Mr. Thornton?” Mary Margaret murmured quietly from nearby.
Gage glanced around, surprised to find the woman leaning against the doorjamb. She smiled at him, and he inclined his head a slight degree, not at all sure that he should take the time, for he needed to get home soon and he still hadn’t taken Shemaine to the cobbler to order a pair of shoes.
“ ‘Twould be an awful shame ta disturb such peace, do ye not think, Mr. Thornton?” the woman ventured, contemplating him covertly.
Gage’s eyes were drawn back to the bed, to the sight of Shemaine lost in slumber. She looked immensely delicate and beautiful, like a small, bright flower in a shady spot of verdant green. Her soft, pink lips were slightly parted, as if she anticipated being kissed by a phantom lover. Her silken lashes, of a dark brown hue, rested on cheeks that had grown rosy in her sleep. Her round bosom rose and fell in languid repose against the small back of her sleeping companion, and at that moment, Gage almost envied his son.
“She must be exhausted to sleep so soundly,” he mused in a hushed tone. “I cannot imagine she was able to get much rest on the voyage over here.”
Mrs. McGee followed his unswerving stare and thoughtfully tilted her head as she, too, contemplated the girl. “She’s a rare beauty, isn’t she?”
Gage cocked a wondering brow as he cast a glance awry at the widow, for it was apparent what she was about. But he curbed the temptation to question her plans to make a match. “Do you have the tea already brewed, or should I awaken Shemaine and Andrew and be on my way?”
“Smooth yer ruffled plumes, me fine-feathered peacock,” Mary Margaret gently chided, beckoning him to follow as she led the way back to the hearth. There she took up the teapot and thoughtfully poured a cup full. “If I’d have ye speak the words with the girl, ‘tis only a desire o’ me own ta see ye an’ yer son with a good woman in the house.”
“How can you say that Shemaine is good when you don’t know anything about her?”
Mrs. McGee smiled and tapped a forefinger against her temple. “I’ve a bit o’ wisdom up here in me noggin an’ can see what’s plainly in view before me eyes.”
“And what is that, old woman?” Gage questioned as she handed him a cup of tea.
“Shemaine is as
much o’ a lady as any woman in this village. I can see it in the way she walks an’ carries herself. She has the confident, refined elegance o’ one who’s been well tutored and instructed in the social graces. I can hear it when she talks, despite that wee bit o’ an Irish brogue. She’s well worth the hefty price ye paid for her, Mr. Thornton, if ye didn’t know it.”
“She’s all of what you say, and more,” Gage admitted. “Her talents are unlimited. Andrew is already becoming attached to her. Perhaps you saw his concern when he thought she had been hurt. She’s very good with him, better than—” He paused suddenly, realizing he was being much too verbose about the girl.
“Roxanne?” Mary Margaret supplied the name in a gently questioning tone, not wishing to set the man at odds with her.
“Shemaine has a way about her,” Gage said, preferring not to answer the elder’s query. “She’s very gifted.”
“Oh, no doubt. No doubt.” The elder paused to take a sip from her own cup and then settled in a rocking chair in front of the hearth. For a lengthy moment she stared into the flickering flames as she savored the brew. Then she tossed a quick furtive glance toward the tall man. “But I should warn ye ’bout the rumors that are already makin’ their way ’bout town, many with the aid o’ Mrs. Pettycomb, who, if she minded her own business as much as she did others’, would be a blessed saint.”
“I can imagine the rumors are not very pleasant,” Gage muttered above his teacup. “They never are.”
“When ye’re as handsome as yerself, sir, ye’re bound ta cause talk, but when ye’ve also got a girl as winsome as Shemaine O’Hearn livin’ under the same roof with ye . . . well, such talk is almost ta be expected. Some folks are aleady callin’ her foul names an’ sayin’ as how ye bought her for yerself ta sport with. Ta be sure, they’ll be watchin’ her belly ta see if it grows heavy with child.”
The muscles tensed in Gage’s cheeks as he stubbornly declared, “I bought Shemaine because she’ll be able to teach Andrew how to read and write in years to come.”
“Is that the only reason?” Mary Margaret inquired softly.
Gage looked at her in surprise, but for the life of him he couldn’t make any denials to the elder’s unspoken insinuation, for he’d be lying through his teeth.
“If I were a man as fine as yerself, ownin’ a bondswoman as comely as Shemaine,” Mary Margaret ventured, “I’d not allow any space for the rumors ta hatch. I’d marry the girl an’ grin with pride when the ol’ biddies see her belly growin’.”
Her guest raised a brow in quizzical wonder. “You never give up, do you, Mary Margaret?”
“What in the world do ye mean?” She feigned innocence with a sweet smile.
“You know very well what I mean,” Gage challenged. “The realms of the lower world would freeze over ere you’d cease your attempts to marry off couples. You have a very determined nature, madam.”
The elder grinned back at him as she shrugged her thin shoulders. “What do ye expect? I’m Irish!”
Gage tossed a pleading glance upward. “Heaven protect this Englishman from all the Irishwomen in the world!”
CHAPTER 7
The cobbler’s workshop was nigh the heart of Newportes Newes, and though the afternoon was swiftly aging, Gage refused to leave the hamlet without completing all the errands he had set out to do, the last being to order shoes for his bondswoman. He pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the cobbler’s shop and lifted his son and then Shemaine down to the boardwalk. As he did so, he noticed that a number of people had stopped along the thoroughfare and were watching them in unabashed curiosity. Their interest seemed mainly centered on the girl, and after his recent chat with Mrs. McGee, it wasn’t hard to surmise what most of them were thinking. Then, too, accounts of Shemaine’s recent set-to with Potts might have been spreading through the village, and some people were no doubt interested in seeing how the girl had fared.
Several bachelors were edging closer for a better look as well. Though Gage couldn’t imagine the pinch-faced Mrs. Pettycomb lauding the beauty of a convict, other residents of the community had witnessed his purchase of Shemaine and were far more apt to describe her in greater detail. It was conceivable that such talk had given rise to the curiosity of the young gallants. But then, considering the scarcity of available women, they would have looked with yearning at any fetching maid who might have ventured into the area.
Gage knew most of the men well enough, some certainly better than others. Two of the younger ones had even worked for him as apprentices for a time, but they had failed to come up to his expectations, and he had let them go. He was cognizant of the bachelors’ lengthy struggles to find themselves wives. He had experienced many of the same frustrations himself ere he had married Victoria and again in more recent months, but their plight was of little consequence to him. Had any of them been of such a mind, they could have braved the bigoted opinions of the town biddies and gone to the London Pride, just as he had done. But they hadn’t, and he’d be hanged before letting them skim off the best of the cream now. Shemaine was his possession, and short of her parents arriving to buy back her freedom, he had no intention of selling her, even at a huge profit. She was precisely the kind of bondswoman he had been hoping to find, perhaps even better and more beautiful than he had dared to envision, and that was enough reason to refuse any and all overtures.
“Why, if it isn’t Mr. Thornton and Shemaine O’Hearn!” a woman jeered behind them.
The harsh feminine voice was only vaguely familiar to Gage, but Shemaine knew it too well. Its caustic tone evoked dark memories of long hours locked away in a cable tier and morbid scenes of lifeless bodies being dumped into the sea. Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, Shemaine reluctantly responded in like manner as Gage faced the woman whom she and the other convicts had derisively dubbed “Mrs. Captain Fitch.”
“Madam.” Gage briefly tipped his hat as he recognized Gertrude Fitch. Then, with an equally concise greeting, he acknowledged her glowering husband. “Captain Fitch.”
Gertrude raked her gaze scathingly over the object of her hatred and felt a bitter disappointment as she took note of the much-improved appearance of the girl. Her lips twisted downward snidely as she made comment. “Life as a servant certainly seems to agree with you, Shemaine.”
Gertrude Fitch had been motivated by spite to find out how the bogtrotter was faring as a bondslave. In fact, she had all but demanded that her husband escort her about the hamlet, on the chance that she would glean dreadful news of Shemaine’s circumstances from various remarks townspeople were wont to make. But when she saw the colonial reach out and gently gather the girl’s slender fingers in his own, Gertrude nearly choked on the bitter bile of animosity. Whether a gesture of reassurance, compassion, or (worse yet) tender affection, it conveyed sentiments that pierced her heart anew with hostility. When the man made it evident that Shemaine was under his protection, Gertrude could foresee nothing radically unfavorable happening to the girl.
A brief silence ensued as Gertrude glared at Shemaine, but Captain Fitch was totally unsympathetic with his wife’s enmity toward the girl and tromped on her onerous taciturnity with a faint trace of scorn in his smirk. “This is the first time my wife has ever ventured beyond the shores of England. She was so curious about this blasted colony, she nigh threatened me with mayhem if I didn’t show her about.” Disguising his resentment with a humorless chuckle, he rocked back upon his heels as he cast an irksome glance down the thoroughfare. Knowing full well that Gertrude had been hoping to hear tales of Shemaine’s adversity, he continued with his subtle innuendos. “I assured her there would probably be nothing worthwhile to see, but I suppose she was longing to find a wee bauble or even a bit of news to content her.”
Everette Fitch settled his gaze fleetingly on Shemaine. With her hair combed and subdued in a braided knot behind her nape, the girl looked as prim and comely as he had once imagined she would under better circumstances. Considering the depth of Gertrud
e’s hateful expectations, he could only surmise that by now his wife was seething with disappointment.
Gage was keenly perceptive of the glance Captain Fitch flicked over Shemaine and the torturous yearning burning within the gray eyes. He had also caught the significance of the man’s words and answered him adroitly. “Aye, there are treasures to be found . . . but in their true form, they might not always appeal to the one who searches for them so diligently. But to others, they are highly prized. In fact, some men would chance everything to have them safely within their grasp.”
The guileful insinuations riled Everette so thoroughly that he could hardly trust himself to meet the amber-flecked gaze, much less to speak. He was still incensed over losing Shemaine, but he was even more resentful of the fact that this impudent interloper had challenged his authority as ship’s captain by cunningly petitioning Gertrude to consider his offer to buy Shemaine, as if the man had actually perceived that it was his wife who held the ultimate power. The fellow’s success in plucking the girl from his grasp would have been a despicable blow to any man’s pride, but for Everette Fitch, it was compounded by the suspicion that J. Horace Turnbull had deliberately arranged matters so that Gertrude would be the controlling entity in any situation, perhaps for no other purpose than to see his son-in-law thoroughly humiliated.
Gertrude was oblivious to what had really been bandied back and forth between the two men. During their exchange, she had swept her eyes over the mud-pocked thoroughfare and wooden buildings that lined the boardwalk and drawn her own conclusions. With a sneer she conveyed her distaste. “I’ve seen nothing in this settlement that would make me want to ever come back.”
Petals on the River Page 17
