Petals on the River (30 page)

sold ta another before the nuptials are exchanged." Mary Margaret

paused, wondering if she would see some indication of the other's

dismay, and when the delicately refined features remained discreetly

void of emotion, a tiny seed of respect began to germinate within her

breast.
 
Too many of the prettier fillies were rash and frivolous,

spilling every secret without giving the slightest heed to the

consequences.
 
Mary Margaret heaved a reflective sigh.
 
"But I can't

rightly see that happening' though, since he warned me against stirrin'

up the hopes o' other men.

"So far, madam, I've found Mr.
 
Thornton to be a kind and courteous

gentleman," Shemaine stated carefully.
 
"He's treated me far better than

I ever expected to be and has made no improper advances or demands." Her

declaration was made with prudent deliberation in an effort to snuff out

any rumors that might have been going around.

She knew people were bound to talk about them.
 
Mrs.
 
Pettycomb had

boldly stated as much.
 
But she hoped to remain unimpaired by such

slanderous chatter long after she returned to England, though it be

seven years from now.

The elder slowly nodded as if championing her cause and then, after a

moment, pointed down the lane with her cane.
 
"Let's walk a ways I dare

not take ye the full length o' town seein' as how his noble selfis

anxious ta keep ye a secret from all the other hot-blooded males who are

lookin' for a mate.
 
Ta be sure, there's been a serious shortage o'

decent women in the hamlet, which has made the area a ripe haven for

another sort entirely, but their kind usually hang around the men in the

tavern an' leave the streets for the rest o' us, at least durin' the

daylight hours."

Without comment Shemaine fell in beside the widow, and they progressed

at a leisurely pace as Mary Margaret, with a flourish of a bony hand or

a nod of her white head, drew her attention to several establishments

located along the boardwalk.
 
Shemaine took special note of the

apothecary shop when Mrs.
 
McGee described the owner, Sidney Pettycomb,

as a fine, upstanding member of their community.
 
Having met his wife,

Shemaine could only reserve judgment of the man.

Several chattering matrons bustled out of the shop, oblivious to

everything but what they were discussing until they espied the two who

approached, then they nearly stumbled over each other in their haste to

reenter.
 
There was an immediate flurry of activity as each of them

struggled for a favorable position behind the window, and much like a

gaggle of excited geese, they stretched their long necks and bobbed

their bonneted heads up and down in an effort to see Shemaine better.

"Don't be alarmed by those biddies, dearie," Mrs.
 
McGee cautioned,

tilting her head ever so slightly to indicate the group. "They're some

o' Mrs.
 
Pettycomb's cohorts.
 
They've no doubt heard o' ye an' are

eager ta dissect ye for themselves."

Shemaine glanced askance at the variety of faces pressed near the glass,

but the group fell back almost in unison as Mrs.
 
McGee waved and called

out a cheery greeting.

"Good day, Agnus, Sarah .
 
.
 
.
 
Mabel .
 
.
 
.
 
Phobe .
 
.
 
.

Josephine," she greeted, marking each of the women with her eyes as she

named them.

"Fine weather we're havin' today, is it not?"

If the matrons had hoped to remain inconspicuous behind the window, then

the elderly woman made their failure obvious as she named them one by

one.
 
It brought an amused smile to Shemaine's lips, not only because of

the sudden astonishment and discomfiture of the gossips but because of

the delightfully puckish humor of Mary Margaret McGee.

Mrs.
 
McGee grinned at her young companion.
 
"I'd be a-thinkin' the lot

o' them might've imagined themselves invisible behind the glass, like

wee mice huddlin' in a corner."' Since none of them could have been

considered tiny by any stretch of the imagination, the elder's comment

seemed all the more farfetched.

Shemaine began to giggle as she looked into the blue eyes that twinkled

with mischievous mirth.
 
The woman was so delightful, Shemaine couldn't

help but feel safe and at ease in her company.

They continued on their way, but after passing the only inn in the

hamlet, they paused, and the elder gestured toward the end of town,

where the blacksmith's shop and house were located.

"Roxanne an' her father live over there, but neither o' them is kindly

favored toward the company o' strangers...." The delicate brows shrugged

upward briefly.
 
"Or even neighbors, for that matter.
 
Hugh Corbin is

just as surly now as he used to be when he had a young wife at his beck

an' call, but Leona deserted the family years ago ta run off with a

travelin' man, leaving Roxanne ta learn firsthand what it means ta live

alone with an ornery brute of a father.
 
One would think she'd have

grown up timid, bein' constantly under her pa's thumb, but I think

Roxanne has more'n her fair share o' Hugh Corbin runnin' in her veins.

If she doesn't crack open his head one o' these days cause o' the way he

orders her bout, twill be a wonder, for sure."

"I think she's to be pitied," Shemaine murmured quietly.

Mary Margaret looked at Shemaine in alarm.
 
Aaiiee, don't ye be givin'

her none o' that ta her face or she'll be turnin' on ye like a wild

banshee!
 
Ta be sure, Roxanne will not take it kindly, ye pityin' her.

Tis what drives her near mad now, thinkin' we're all feelin' sorry for

her cause she's been a homely spinster for so long." A sad smile touched

the elder's lips as she thoughtfully considered the red-haired beauty.

"But ye've a keen eye an' a sympathetic heart, Shemaine O'Hearn. She is

a wounded soul what needs pityin'.
 
An' far be it that any o' us should

condemn her, seein' as how she's had ta live with a grumpy ol' bear all

these many years."

"Why do you suppose Mr.
 
Corbin is like that?" Shemaine asked, thankful

her own father had carefully nurtured his family with love and respect.

Strangers and casual acquaintances had not always fared well in his

presence, however, for his temper had a way of showing itself in a

forceful way whenever he was pushed or prodded.
 
A wise man it was who

minded his manners around Shemus O'Hearn.

Mary Margaret chuckled.
 
"Oh, dearie, if I knew that, I'd be a sooth

sayer.
 
Still, tis been on me mind all these years that Hugh had his

heart set firmly on sirin' a son an' the'er forgave his wife for losin' .

the one what was born ta them early on in their marriage.
 
Though Leona

carried the babe full term, he came stillborn, the'er drawin' a breath

beyond his mother's womb.
 
Or at least that's what we were told.

Hugh made sure they kept ta themselves even then an' wouldn't allow the

neighbors ta help.
 
Twas four years later when Leona finally delivered

another child, but Hugh didn't take kindly ta it beiu' a girl.
 
After

Roxanne, there the'er came another, an' shortly after the girl's fifth

birthday, Leona was seen buyin' a fancy comb from a travelin' salesman.

That stingy flint, Hugh, was overheard yelling and raising a loud ruckus

bout how he'd the'er given her coin ta make such a purchase though she

took in washin' ta help out.
 
The next afternoon, the rovin' man came

round ta their place again, an' Leona slipped out o' the house an' was

the'er seen again.
 
She was a pretty li'l thing, ta be sure, an' with the

way Hugh treated her, no one could blame her much for following her

heart.
 
Tis truly a pity that Roxanne took her looks from her pa and not

her ma."

Suddenly a harsh, fiendish shriek rent the serenity of the village,

dMwing the startled attention of both women toward the boardwalk in

front of the tavern, where a grotesquely deformed hunchback was cowering

in terror at the feet of a tall, burly, lank-haired man who was

guffawing loudly as he pummeled the deformed man with a stout stick.

With savage cruelty, the ruffian kicked his victim in the stomach and

viciously maligned him, calling him every foul name that found its way

to his tongue.

Months ago that same huge, hulking form which towered over the

disfigured man had been etched with startling clarity in Shemaine's

memory.
 
Despite her outrage over his mistreatment of another human

being, it was the sight of Jacob Potts that compelled her to tear

herself away from Mrs.
 
McGee.
 
Catching up her skirts, she raced toward

the tavern as if rage had set wings to .her feet.

"Shemaine!" Mary Margaret cried in sudden alarm.
 
"Have a care, child!

" Shemaine's ire reached its zenith as more blows rained down upon the

hapless, shivering hunchback, and as she ran, she railed at the top of

her lungs, "You filthy, bloodsucking swine!
 
Leave that man be!"

Although the feminine screech reached a higher pitch than he could

remember ever hearing on the London Pride, Jacob Potts knew without a

doubt that it was the one he had been straining to hear amid the diverse

jargon of the colonials.
 
Now, at last, he would vent his revenge on the

bogtrotter for all the times she had made him feel like a bumbling

dullard.
 
No bog-Irish tart had a right to be so uppity and highminded.

Still, the idea of slicing the girl's throat with a knife had been

Morrisa's idea, not his.
 
It was a command she had given nigh to three

months ago.
 
But that particular method was too swift and sure to sate

his own desire for vengeance.
 
He wanted Shemaine O'Hearn to die a slow,

agonizing death.

Tossing away the stick, Potts set his arms akimbo as he observed the

girl.
 
His grin grew cocky and his pig eyes gleamed in malevolent