Petals on the River (19 page)

serviceable as well.

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.
 
Thornþ" 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.

"O1' 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 O1' 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 O1' 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.

"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."