Petals on the River (110 page)

younger man was telling him.
 
After a moment of strained silence, he

wiped his trembling hands on his breeches and muttered half to himself,

" Twill take me a while ta dig two graves...."

Gage looked at the smithy, not sure he understood what the man had said.

"I thought I'd try to find that old woman's cabin in the woods where

Cain lived and bury him out there.
 
If you know where it is, it would

help me...."

"I'll bury Cain beside Roxanne."' "Are you sure you want to do that, Mr.

Corbin?" Gage asked in quiet sympathy.
 
"After all, Cain did kill

her...."

"This was where Cain was born, this is where he'll be buried."

Gage wondered if the shock of Roxanne's death had addled the smithy.

"As far as I can remember, the woman in the woods never said where Cain

came from.
 
Are you saying that Cain was born in Newportes Newes .

.
 
.
 
or near here?"

"He was me son," Hugh answered in a gravely voice.
 
"Me firstborn.

He was born a couple o' weeks afore he was due, an' when I saw how

grotesque the babe was, I told Leona ta pad her belly so's everybody

would think she was still with child.
 
Then I took the babe in the woods

an' left him on the ol' woman's doorstep.
 
Didn't seem right somehow ta

kill me own son.
 
After the hag found Cain an' spread the news around, I

told some people that Leona was going' inta labor with our own babe, but

I wouldn't let anyone come inta the house.
 
Later, I built a tiny

coffin, weighted it down with a small bag o' grain an' told the

townsfolk that the son what had been born ta me an' Leona had come inta

the world dead.

I didn't want ta own up ta that hideous 418 K2NTHLEEN E.
 
WOODIWIM li'l

creature I'd taken in the woods, but Cain was the only son I e'er had."

"Did Roxanne know that Cain was her brother?"

"I never told a soul .
 
.
 
.
 
til this moment .
 
.
 
.
 
an' now it just

don't seem ta matter anymore."

Gage left the man alone to deal with his sorrows as best as he could.

The smithy had made his own way in life, and it had become obvious to

Gage during the short time he was there that Hugh wanted no one to pity

him.
 
He would remain as stubborn and harshly stalwart as ever.

Gage helped the smithy unload the top two coffins, then he took the

third and a statement of how Potts had met his death to the British

authorities in the area.
 
Gage then proceeded to the tavern and found

Freida in a raging tizzy.

"I'd like to talk with Morrisa," he informed the madam.
 
"Do you know

where she is?"

"I wish I did," Freida snapped irritably.
 
"She left here without

lettin' any o' us know she was leavin', an' from what I hears, she

caught a ride going' north with the first fella what come along, a

mountain man what's been visitin' her lately.
 
Twould seem she aren't

plannin' on comin' back any time soon."

"Then I take it Morrisa didn't bother to buy her freedom."

Freida snorted angrily, attesting to the accuracy of his conjecture.

"Ye can bet when I catch up with her, she's gonna wish she had."

"I suppose Morrisa was more afraid of what I'd do to her than she was of

you," Gage surmised.

Freida squinted a glance up at him.
 
"Potts go out ta yer place gain?"

Gage responded with a nod.
 
"This time he tried to kill me and said that

Morrisa told him to do it.
 
He meant to kill my wife after doing away

with me."

The madam swept him with a lengthy perusal, seeing no visible wounds.

"But ye're here an' Potts aren't."

"His coffin is down the street a ways."

Freida pursed her reddened lips in a wrinkled "Oh?" as she leaned back

in her chair to stare at him.
 
"So's ye're here lookin' for Morrisa an'

maybe thinkin' ye'll do her in like ye promised, but ye're gonna have ta

wait yer turn, cause I'm gonna find her first an' lay inta her so harsh

she's gonna wish she done gone ta the grave."

"Be my guest.
 
As long as she's out of the territory, I think I can

forget about her being a danger to Shemaine."

"Oh, I'm gonna bring her back alright or kill her tryin'.
 
I gots

friends what keep me informed bout things.
 
Until I finds out where

she's gone, I'll be a-thinkin' up what'll be the best punishment I can

give her for leavin' here without me knowin'.
 
She aren't gonna be much

use ta me all scarred up by a whip.
 
The gents won't mind a finger or

two missin' on a harlot as long as she's got enough ta get their

attention.

An' I knows some other stuff what'll make the bitch take notice. If'n

Morrisa's smart, she'll behave herself from then on.
 
Otherwise, she'll

be regrettin' it til her-dyin' day.
 
That much I've promised her, an' I

always keep me pledge."

Gage didn't know which posed a greater threat to Morrisa, being at the

beck and call of a mountain man or being at the mercy of a vicious

adversary like Freida.
 
Whatever her fate, he seriously doubted that she

would enjoy herself overmuch.

News of Edith du Mercer's hasty departure from Newportes Newes reached

Gage before he left the tavern, and he returned to his family confident

that Maurice du Mercer had handled the situation in a way that he had

deemed fit.
 
Later, when Shemus and Camille arrived at the cabin after

venturing into the hamlet, they informed Shemaine and Gage that Maurice

had come to see them and had explained his intentions.
 
He was giving

some consideration to the idea of eventually settling near Richmond and

paying court to Garland Beauchamp to see what would come of that

relationship.
 
At the moment, however, he was still in love with

Shemaine and had decided it was best to put some distance between them

for his own peace of mind.
 
He was planning on returning to England

after an initial visit with the Beauchamps, and in a year or so would be

returning to the colonies and traveling upriver to Richmond. If, at that

time, Shemaine- had been widowed or left to her own defenses, she was to

leave word for him at the inn in Newportes Newes. Since she was

apparently deeply in love with her husband, he would leave her alone,

but should she want him ere he wed another, he would return to her stoop

with all the eagerness of a smitten swam.

Gage bristled at the announcement, but he could hardly blame the man.

In fact, if Shemaine were ever widowed, Gage could not imagine a better

man than Maurice to replace him as her husband.
 
Still, Gage hoped he

would completely frustrate the Marquess's desires and live to an ancient

age with her, for she was clearly the kind of wife a husband could

treasure beyond all the ships, fame and fortune in the world.

Shemus blustered at the urging of his wife and cleared his throat as he

faced his son-in-law.
 
The fact that William sat nearby only added to

his discomfiture.
 
"Now that ye've been cleared o' the murder o' yer

first wife, I suppose I must beg yer pardon for the things I said ta ye

the first day we met."

"Only if you're sincere about it," Gage assured him cordially. "An

apology isn't worth much unless you truly mean it."

Shemaine slipped an arm around her husband's waist and, leaning against

his long muscular form, smiled at her parent as she encouraged him to

make things right.
 
"You don't really want to geld him now, do you,

Papa?

After all, twould mean no more grandchildren after the one I'm carrying

now is born."

Her father reddened in painful chagrin.
 
"Yer mother an' I wanted a

large family, but it was never meant ta be.
 
Several grandchildren would

make up for all the years o' our yearnin'."

"Then say it, Papa!" Shemaine entreated eagerly.

Shemus cleared his throat and began his apology haltingly.
 
"I'm sorry

for what I said .
 
.
 
.
 
for wantin' ta see ye cut, Gage, but .
 
. .
 
at

the time .
 
.
 
.
 
I could only imagine that ye'd taken advantage o' me

daughter.
 
Can ye forgive me?"

"I can understand that you were concerned for Shemaine.
 
In fact, I

might have said as much if it had been a daughter of mine." Gage

extended a hand in friendship and smiled as it was readily grasped by

the Irishman.
 
"We have a common goal, sir, and that is the welfare of

Shemaine.
 
I will pledge my troth to you that I'll do everything within

my power as her husband to make her happy."

Chortling in good humor, Shemus laid his free hand upon the ones that

were still clasped together and shook them, bestowing his hearty

approval upon the younger man.
 
"I'm grateful Shemaine was bought by

yerself, sir.
 
Otherwise, it might have been a disastrous end ta her

adventure."

Shemaine freely expounded upon her father's conjecture.
 
"Before my

arrest, Papa, I didn't have the wisdom to search beyond the realm of my

own limited aspirations.
 
Against my will, I was set to a different

course in life than the one I had directed my sights toward, and yet,

looking back, I can only believe a kinder hand must have been guiding me

through my hardships, for tis boundless love and joy I feel in my heart

today for my husband, for my son, and for the child to come .
 
. .
 
and

for our families."

"Hear!
 
Hear!" Gage cried, and a triumphant shout of agreement came

simultaneously from William and Shemus.
 
"Hear!
 
Hear!"