Petals on the River

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Rocking back and forth, Andrew was soon lost in childish delight as he mimicked the cries of a teamster he had once heard. “Geeyup yair! Yah! Yah! Fastah, ya’ mules!”

  Shemaine and Gage dissolved into laughter as they watched the boy, whose curls were still wildly tousled from his lengthy nap. For the moment, Andrew seemed oblivious to either of them.

  “Another example of your many talents, Mr. Thornton?” Shemaine queried, indicating the wooden horse.

  Gage dipped his head in a brief affirmation as he came back to her, but he was frustrated by the noise his son was making. Lifting a hand, he motioned for Shemaine to follow him into the back room again. As she did so, he put aside the crock of ointment and lifted her gently onto the stool. For a brief moment, he searched her face, recognizing her bewilderment, and sought to put her at ease.

  “I told you when you first came here, Shemaine, that I’d be making a trip upriver to Williamsburg. Thus far, I’ve been detained from doing so, but yesterday I received word that my customer’s house is complete and he’d like his furniture now. If you’re feeling strong enough two weeks from tomorrow, I’d very much like to take you and Andrew with me when my men and I make the delivery.”

  “I’m sure by then I’ll be able to go with you and look after Andrew, Mr. Thornton.”

  “While we’re there, I’d like to take care of another matter of great importance to me . . . if you’re willing. . . .”

  “If I’m willing?” Her eyebrows gathered. “What is there that I must consent to, Mr. Thornton?”

  “I need to discuss this matter with you tonight, and I pray you will give me an answer posthaste, for I’ll not rest until I know one way or the other.”

  Outwardly Shemaine seemed composed, but inwardly she quaked. She had noticed that Gage had started pacing restlessly about the narrow corridor, and she could only imagine that whatever he wanted to discuss, it was of a serious nature. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about keeping her. Potts’s attempt to kill her might have convinced him of the danger her presence posed to his small family. Carefully she asked, “What matter do you wish to speak with me about, Mr. Thornton?”

  Gage stepped back in front of her, earnestly desiring to make certain truths known to her. “I wasn’t necessarily teasing when I told you once that I’d consider taking you to wife. Even before I ventured to the London Pride, I had given careful consideration to the idea of marrying again. I needed a nursemaid for Andrew, but I wanted a wife for myself almost as much. As I’ve told you before, there’s a serious dearth of young, marriageable women in the area. The ones who are here are eager to wed, as Roxanne has clearly demonstrated, but none has appealed to me. When I went to the ship, I never thought I’d be fortunate enough to find a woman who’d even suffice as a nursemaid . . . much less a wife. But I was wrong, Shemaine. You are much more than I had hoped to find.”

  Shemaine stared at him, completely astounded by his revelation. “You want to marry me?” Her mind raced, trying to understand his reasoning. Surely he had taken the consequences of marrying one with a tarnished reputation into consideration. She could believe that he might have wanted to bed her because she was handy, but marriage had seemed out of the question despite his wont to tease her. “Why in the world would you want to do that, Mr. Thornton, when the very sight of me leaves honest people wondering what grievous crime I committed in England? Surely they’ve wondered about my incarceration and have made much of my indentureship to you. You saw how Samuel Myers behaved when he saw me at the dance. I was brought to this country in chains, sir, and if you take me to wife, you’ll be a marked man. The husband of a convict, they’ll hiss behind your back. No doubt Mrs. Pettycomb has done her best to tell everyone in the hamlet that I’m not worthy of being received by any respectable family, and I seriously suspect it would do me little good to explain to her or the other gossipmongers that I did nothing deserving of my arrest. How could you even consider inviting that kind of criticism upon yourself?”

  Gage was just as incredulous. “Do you honestly think I care one whit about what that woman may say or think? Alma Pettycomb is so pure in her own eyes, she’s unable to see how utterly mean and malicious she really is. She feeds on the flesh of innocents, and I’m sure that one day she’ll reap dire consequences for wagging that long, serpent tongue of hers. Believe me, Shemaine, she isn’t worth your slightest concern. Nor should she hinder or influence any decision you might make. It should be done of your own free will without intimidation. The matter of our marriage is entirely between you and me, no one else.”

  Taking her small hand between his, Gage searched her green eyes for some hint of a denial, but he found none. “Shemaine O’Hearn, I would be greatly honored if you would accept my proposal of marriage and become my wife.”

  “You’d have no qualms about taking a convict to wife?” she inquired in amazement. It was almost as if she were waking from a long sleep, for the full realization of what he wanted was just now beginning to hasten the beat of her heart. “You wouldn’t regret our marriage after the fact?”

  “I would be taking you to wife, Shemaine, and that’s all that matters to me,” Gage declared. “Here in the colonies you’ll find that rumors grow stale very quickly. Such epithets as ‘convict,’ ‘rogue,’ and ‘thief’ are short-lived unless there are frequent repetitions of offenses to remind people of one’s dastardly bent. Once wed, we’ll be like every other married couple around here.”

  “Is that the way we’ll be?” Shemaine inquired timidly. For all of her wanton imaginings, when it came to presenting herself as a bride, she could only worry about her thinness and lack of desirability. “Will we share ourselves as other couples do?”

  Now it was Gage’s turn to grow troubled and perplexed. “What are you asking, Shemaine? That I be something less than a husband to you?”

  A crimson blush stained her cheeks. “I shouldn’t expect that of you, Mr. Thornton, but I’m dreadfully thin and . . . and not very pleasant to look at without . . .”

  “Your clothes?” Gage finished for her, sensing her reluctance to continue. His eyes dropped briefly to her softly clad bosom, then returned to caress her face. He could only wonder how she was able to imagine herself as unappealing when he was certain she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “If you were to insist upon abstinence in our union, Shemaine, ‘twould be better for us not to wed at all, for I could not endure seeing you near . . . wanting you . . . and not being intimate with you. I’m a man, Shemaine, not a monk. I desire you as much as any man can desire a woman. I think you must know that by now. If you’re bothered at all about being thin or weak, believe me when I say that it just doesn’t matter that much to me. I want you just the way you are! And if you should still feel frail when we’re married, be assured that my strength is enough for the two of us. I would take care not to hurt you and would nurture any tenderness you might feel. So I entreat you, my dear Shemaine, to consider me as a suitor desirous of becoming your husband in every sense of the word.”

  “You do overwhelm a girl, Mr. Thornton,” Shemaine breathed, hardly able to keep her thoughts from imagining his wonderfully contoured body in sharp contrast to her thin form. The images of them lying together in bed began to rush upon her and were far more sensual than she would have cared to admit. Now that she had admired a naked man for herself, her mother’s rather embarrassed explanations about what went on between a husband and a wife were enlarged upon and elucidated in her mind.

  Gage raised a hand and gently brushed his knuckles against her flushed cheek. “Will you be my wife, Shemaine?”

  Shemaine remembered the pomp that had surrounded the occasion when Maurice du Mercer had voiced such a question, but for the life of her, she could not recall her heart thumping quite so wildly within her chest as it did after this man’s simple but stirring proposal. She considered what it would mean being married to a colonial and committing herself to staying with him long after the seven years on her original indent
ureship. She still yearned to see her family, but for reasons that were both clear and ambiguous, she could no longer feature herself returning to England and marrying an affluent husband there. It seemed more appropriate for her to stay and make a home with the man who had awakened the passion within her. If she did not love him at this time, she certainly desired him, and she could not continue living in the same house with him without seeking fulfillment as a woman. It was far better to marry than to try to bridle her cravings for the next seven years.

  Slowly Shemaine responded with a consenting nod. “Aye, Mr. Thornton, I will be your wife . . . in every sense of the word.”

  Gage became eager and lighthearted. “We can be married in Williamsburg,” he said softly. “By then, your side will be on the mend, and we can return by evening and spend our wedding night here in the cabin.”

  Despite her efforts to appear calm, her voice quavered. “Whatever you think best, Mr. Thornton.”

  Lifting her chin, Gage settled a gently caressing kiss upon her lips, as if afraid he’d hurt her with anything more passionate. When he drew back, he explored her face with shining eyes as he whispered, “Shouldn’t you think about calling me Gage now? After all, I’ll soon be your husband.”

  “Gage.” His name came in a tremulous sigh as he lowered his lips to hers again, but this time his mouth slanted across hers in a devouring search, quickening her pulse until she felt the stirring of ardor in her woman’s body once more. His tongue slipped between her lips with provocative boldness, claiming the warm cavern with a possessive voracity that set her senses to flight and awakening a memory of an evening not so long ago. Of a sudden, she was eager for the weeks to pass.

  “Daddee, Andee go preevee!” Andrew cried suddenly, breaking them apart with the effectiveness of a bucket of cold water. Racing into the corridor, the boy danced up and down in an anxious dither. Gage swept him up and was out the back door in a flash, leaving Shemaine fairly dazed with awe. Having previously been aroused by an ardent kiss from his lips and having found this recent one gentler but no less stirring, she was convinced that there was much more sensual zeal in Gage Thornton than even her dreams had portrayed. Indeed, she found herself growing increasingly exhilarated by the idea of being intimate with the man.

  Was she dreaming again? Was this really happening to her? Would she soon be sharing a bed with Gage Thornton? Or would he return from taking Andrew to the privy and say that he had only been teasing her? Warts off a toad, more or less?

  CHAPTER 14

  Gage left his canoe by the river and entered the hamlet of Newportes Newes with a definite purpose in mind. He went first to the London Pride, but at his terse inquiry, the bosun’s mate informed him that Jacob Potts was at liberty and wasn’t expected to return to the ship until the following week. When Gage pushed through the doors of the tavern several moments later, he overheard Morrisa being chided by her new owner, an older and rather portly woman wearing a tawdry red gown and a frizzy white wig which sat slightly askew atop her head.

  “The gent’s paid good money ta have ye, an’ ye’ll accommodate him,” the elder insisted, pounding a fist upon the table. “An’ I’ll be hearin’ no more o’ yer carpin’ ’bout him bein’ a li’l weasel or that he’s low-down mean like the other girls told ye. I’ve heard meself Sam Myers ain’t got much in his breeches ta speak o’, an’ he likes ta prove himself a man in other ways. But as long as he’s willin’ ta pay the higher fees I charge him for lettin’ me girls go over ta his place ta service his needs, ye’ll tolerate his cuffs an’ his dirty li’l tricks an’ mind yer manners whilst ye’re doin’ it. Do ye hear?”

  “Aye, I hear ye, Freida,” Morrisa mumbled, but she was hardly amenable to the idea. There were ways of dealing with odious little rattails like Samuel Myers. Why, with a simple flick of a blade, Jacob Potts could put that blooming toad out of his misery. That is, if her li’l lapdoggie ever got on his feet again and came out of hiding.

  It seemed lately that Potts couldn’t do anything right where the bogtrotter was concerned, Morrisa mentally jeered. Hadn’t she sent him out to challenge Gage on the street the night of the dance? But what did Potts do? He got himself beat up good and proper, that’s what! Then, after venturing onto the colonial’s land, he came back with a big hole in his side and was now laid out like an ailing walrus. Freddy had taken him a fair distance away, where he could be treated by a doctor and where he’d be out of harm’s way in case the colonial came looking for him. But for the time being, the swabber was utterly useless to her.

  Freida leaned forward to claim Morrisa’s attention with a dark scowl. “I’ve been makin’ some good money since I brought me girls inta this here area, an’ I ain’t wantin’ no li’l snitch like Myers callin’ foul an’ sayin’ he’s been cheated. He just might scare off some o’ our customers if’n he did. I bought ye off that prison ship so’s ye could help me business along, not ta set me at odds with the gents. An’ if’n ye don’t make double o’ what I paid for ye within the first year, ye can bet I’ll be takin’ it out o’ yer hide.”

  Morrisa sulked in mutinous discontent as she turned away from the harping crone, but her expression changed to one of wonder when she espied Gage Thornton coming through the door. She was anxious to hear how Shemaine had fared after being wounded, and he was certainly her best source for getting that information. Hopefully the li’l beggar had taken a fever and would soon die like she should have done long ago.

  Growing smug in her confidence that she could wreak revenge on her adversary, Morrisa offered a sultry-eyed smile to Gage as she ran a hand invitingly over her voluptuous form. “Well, gov’na, I sees ye’ve changed yer mind ’bout me offer, eh? I knew ‘twould only be a matter o’ time afore ye tired o’ Sh’maine.” Her eyes slowly dropped to her lap as she voiced a probing conjecture. “Sh’maine must’ve made ye real mad for ye ta leave her so sudden like, though. I didn’t expect ye for a couple o’ weeks or so yet. Makes me wonder what she’s done ta ye.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Freida gave the tall, handsome stranger a lengthy scrutiny. It was rare to see such a good-looking gent seeking favors from a harlot. Usually such men got their needs met without laying out a single coin. Her heavily rouged lips twisted in a lopsided leer as she sized him up with a keen eye. “Ye’re a right fine one, ye are,” she observed coarsely. “Too fine ta me way o’ thinkin’. I’ll be havin’ ta keep me eyes open just ta see what me girls give away ta ye, seem’s as how they might be wantin’ ta treat ye for the pleasure o’ it. Aye, I’ll be takin’ a close accountin’ after they’ve been with ye just ta make sure they’ve collected their normal fees.”

  Gage ignored the madam’s comments and divesting perusal as he settled his gaze upon Morrisa. “I’m looking for Jacob Potts. Have you seen him?”

  Morrisa lifted her shoulders in an indolent shrug as she closely examined her nails. “Whate’er would ye be wantin’ ol’ Potts for?”

  Gage mentally laid odds that Morrisa knew exactly where the tar was and why he sought him. “I’d like to ask him a few questions.”

  The harlot gave him a sidelong stare above a calculating smile. “Don’t tell me the bogtrotter’s been complainin’ ’bout Potts again, makin’ ye feel sorry for her. How is she, anyway?”

  Gage’s gaze never wavered from her. “She’s fine.”

  “Fine?” Morrisa seemed momentarily befuddled. “Ye mean she . . . she ain’t . . . she didn’t send ye in here after Potts?”

  “Actually, I came of my own accord to see how Potts was doing after I wounded him.”

  As if taken by surprise, Morrisa slumped in her chair and her red lips pursed in an expressive “Oh.” An accomplished actress, she pretended confusion as she posed a query. “Why in the world would ye shoot poor ol’ Potts?”

  Gage raised a curious brow, noting that her voice had sounded unnaturally tense. “Who said I shot him?”

  Morrisa frowned sharply, a bit flustered by his response. The colonial was no ignoramus!
So why was she being so careless around him? “Why, ye did,” she insisted. “I heared ye say so meself!”

  “I said I wounded him,” Gage corrected. “I said nothing about shooting him.”

  Morrisa turned aside with a carefully blasé shrug. “How else could a bloke get hisself wounded if’n ‘tain’t by gettin’ shot?”

  Gage smiled blandly. “A knife could do as much harm, and I’ve heard that Potts is especially partial to knives, as you are. Perhaps you already know that Potts went out to my place to kill Shemaine and that I shot him during his attempt to escape. Perhaps you were even the one who sent him. You would like to see Shemaine dead, wouldn’t you, Morrisa?”

  The strumpet grew outwardly miffed and inwardly nervous. “I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ ’bout, Gage Thornton! An’ I don’t know where Potts is, either! I’m not the swabber’s keeper! The last time I seen him, he was athinkin’ o’ maybe goin’ off ta Hampton or someplace like that. So ye’ll just have ta go an’ search for him yerself, Mister Thornton!”

  Gage was only inclined to believe that Potts had left the area. “If he should come to visit you, Morrisa, you’d better tell him that if I ever catch him on my property again, I’ll kill him without stopping to ask why he’s there. You will tell him that, won’t you?”

  Morrisa slanted an icy glare toward him. “I’ll tell him, but if’n ye knew Potts at all, ye’d be mindful o’ just how ornery he can be. Yer warnin’ ain’t gonna make much difference ta the bloke. Ye see, when ol’ Potts gets his head set on doin’ mischief, he ain’t too keen ’bout changin’ his mind for nobody.”

  “Then, too, you might not want to give him the message for reasons of your own,” Gage needled. “Such a warning might deter Potts from fulfilling your behest. Who can really say how he’d react? He just might be inclined to take heed of my warning rather than chance his life being snuffed out. But whether you tell him or not, Morrisa, just be assured of one thing. If Shemaine is killed or harmed in any way because of his actions, I’ll come looking not only for Potts but for you as well. And I may well kill you both.”