Petals on the River (31 page)

pleasure as the prize for which he had been searching rapidly

approached.
 
"Why, if'n it aren't the bog-Irish tart comin' ta stick her

nose in me affairs again."

"You sorry excuse for a man!" Shemaine snarled through gnashing teeth.

"I've had enough of you bullying poor innocents." Passing a barrel of

long, wooden ax handles that had been placed in front of the general

store, she snatched one out and, upon reaching Potts, swung it about

with every measure of might she could muster, catching him across the

ear and alongside the head.
 
His loud yowl of pain promptly brought men

and fancy-dressed women stumbling from the tavern to gawk at them in

surprise.
 
Though the ogre held a hand clasped over his bloodied ear and

continued to howl in deafening anguish, Shemaine would not relent.

Drawing back her makeshift club, she clasped it in both hands and

whipped it around again with brutal determination, this time bashing the

knuckles of the hand that Potts held over his bruised ear and scraping

it upward across the top of his head.
 
Had it been a knife, Shemaine

might have accomplished a scalping right then and there, but the affront

to his pride was too much for Potts to bear.
 
With a roar of rage, he

caught the stick in a meaty fist and, twisting it from her grasp, tossed

it aside.
 
His eyes fairly blazed with fury as he reached out and seiSed

Shemaine by the throat.
 
Lifting her to the tips of her toes, he hauled

her abruptly forward until his sour whiskey breath tainted the air she

struggled to breathe.
 
His heavy lips twisted in a gleeful smirk as she

hung helpless in his grasp.

"This time ye'll die, bitch!" he hissed as his long, thick fingers

slowly tightened around the slender neck.
 
"An' this time ye can be

assured Mistah Arper aren't here ta save ye!"

Shemaine clawed at his tightening hands, trying to pry them away from

her throat, but she could not free herself from his grasp. Neither could

she draw a-breath.
 
Though it seemed a useless effort, she fought

valiantly on, seeking to break his stranglehold, but her strength began

to slowly ebb, and her grip on his wrists slackened. The broad visage

before her, the gaping faces of the people, even the sun in the sky

became a dark, indistinct blur.
 
Vaguely she became aware of someone,

perhaps the hunchback, pushing through the crowd of onlookers.
 
But the

man seemed so very far away that she could not hope he would reach her

in time to loosen the steely vise around her throat and save her from

death.
 
Her arms sagged listlessly to her sides as she gave up her

feeble attempts.
 
It would be over very, very soon.

Gage had left the general store to see what the commotion was outside

and had stepped near the crowd to peer over the shoulders and heads of

those who buttressed the outer ring of onlookers.
 
It was the sight of

Shemaine hanging by her throat in the grasp of some brawny hulk of a

beast that sent his temper soaring.
 
With a savage curse he caught the

nearest spectator by the scruff of the neck and threw him aside. Shoving

others right and left, he pushed toward the core of the circle, scooping

up the handle that Potts had thrown aside as he went. Reaching his goal,

he drove the blunt end of the stick into the soft, protruding belly of

the tar with enough force to double the man over with a loud grunt of

pain, breaking the brute's tenacious grip on the girl and sending him

stumbling backward.

Gage pivoted sharply to catch Shemaine as she crumpled forward. He

promptly swept her up in his arms and searched her face, but she lay

frighteningly limp within his grasp, having slipped into the netherworld

of the unconscious.
 
Her head lolled over his shoulder as he lifted her

higher.
 
After pushing and elbowing his way through the crowd, he almost

ran with her toward the general store, where Andrew watched in

trepidation from the door.

The sound of running feet and a warning scream from Mrs.
 
McGee made

Gage step deftly aside just as the great oaf lunged forward to tackle

him from behind.
 
Meeting nothing firmer than thin air, Potts sailed

past with arms flailing.
 
For good measure, Gage planted a boot firmly

on the man's broad rear, sending him hurtling helplessly into the empty

space beyond the boardwalk.
 
Several feet away, Potts landed facedown in

a large puddle of muck, which, in the preceding hours, had been

liberally enriched with fresh manure from passing horses.
 
Spewing out a

mouthful of filth, he pushed himself to his hands and knees and

struggled to rise.
 
But his feet slipped and skidded on the slick

bottom, and he pitched forward again, gulping more of the vile sludge.

His second attempt was equally ineffectual and his third swiftly

aborted.
 
Loud, guffawing laughter soon accompanied his frustrated

efforts to leave the muddy hole, and by the time he managed to extricate

himself from the foul ooze, the crowd was in hilarious uproar.
 
Heckling

catcalls and cries of "Mudsucker!" liberally christened him as he

trudged dripping and stinking down the street.

"Sheeaim hurt, Daddee?" Andrew asked worriedly after following his

father into the store.

Gage laid Shemaine on a reclining leather chaise and knelt on one knee

beside it.
 
She had not yet roused from her oblivion, but she was

breathing, and that gave him hope, small as it was.
 
He glanced aside at

his son, whose eyes were swimming with frightened tears, and tried to

soothe the boy's tender heart.
 
"Shemaine will be all right, Andy. Don't

fret now."

Andrew sniffed and wiped at his tears as Mary Margaret and the

storekeeper, Adam Foster, approached.
 
The latter had scurried to pour

water into a basin and now set it down on a small table beside the

chaise.
 
He stepped near Gage to look down at the girl, unconsciously

blocking the boy's view.

"This is awful," Mr.
 
Foster fussed in a dither.
 
Vexed by the incident,

he continued his ranting in short, incomplete statements. "Attacking a

woman in such a vile manner!
 
Should be drawn and quartered!"

Mary Margaret sighed ruefully.
 
"A pity the punishment isn't allowable

here in the colonies."

Deterred from reaching Shemaine or his father, Andrew glanced aimlessly

about the store until he detected a movement near the entrance.
 
Peering

intently into the shadows behind a collection of hoes, rakes and shovels

that stood on end in a small barrel next to the door, he crept closer,

thinking it might be a dog or a cat that had wandered into the store.

Then his eyes began to adapt to the tenebrous gloom behind the

equipment.
 
They widened abruptly as he finally spied the darkly clad

form crouching there in pensive silence.
 
It was a ghastly being with

short legs, long arms and shaggy tan hair hanging over a jutting brow.

It was a truly monstrous sight for a young child to settle his gaze

upon.
 
Venting a terrified shriek, Andrew did an abrupt aboutface and,

tottering full tilt around the elders, threw himself against his father

and clutched at him in desperation.

Gage lifted his son in his arms and glanced around to see what had given

the boy such a fright.
 
Then his eyes lit on the deformed man who had

lumbered forward into view, and he understood the reason for the child's

panic.

"What is it, Cain?" Gage asked kindly, rising to his feet.
 
"What do you

want?" He was puzzled by the hunchback's presence in the store, for Cain

usually kept well away from strangers.
 
He only came into the hamlet to

barter with Mr.
 
Foster or to have his mule shod by Hugh Corbin.

Otherwise, the man was rarely seen.

Cain shuffled forward warily despite the impediment of malformed legs,

arms and shoulders that had hung askew from birth, but he paused in

indecision as Andrew strained away and began to scream again in fright.

Quieting his son with words of reassurance, Gage set him down beside

Mrs.
 
McGee, who took Andrew's hand and led him to the back of the store

to show him a jar of sweets.

Tilting his head askance, Cain peered from a badly distorted face as the

taller man approached.
 
It was the first time Gage could remember ever

being able to draw near the hunchback without seeing him scurry away.

Perhaps, more than anybody, Cain realized how hideously ugly he was and

preferred hiding himself.
 
His nose was large and queerly pugged, his

eyes set at odd angles beneath heavily shagged brows.
 
His teeth were

sparse, and in a copious mouth that hung awkwardly agape, his tongue had

a tendency to loll uncontrollably. Several jagged cuts and lacerated

scrapes on his face still oozed blood, giving evidence of recent abuse.

"Did you want something, Cain?" Gage questioned the man again.

The hunchback lifted a large, hairy hand toward Shemaine, who had not

yet revived.
 
Then he gaped up at Gage again as he issued a garbled

question.
 
"Sha dawd?"' Gage frowned a moment, trying to decipher the

muddled speech.
 
Then comprehension finally dawned.
 
"No, she's not

dead.
 
She just fainted.
 
She should come around after a while."

Cain thrust his hand clumsily in the pocket of his thin, ragged coat and

withdrew a pair of slippers which had fallen from Shemaine's feet while

she hung senseless in Potts's grasp.
 
"Har shaws."

"Thank you,'' Gage replied, frowning in bemusement as he accepted the

shoes.
 
It was rare indeed that Cain displayed such concern for another

or went out of his way to return lost possessions, especially when it

meant that he would have to show himself to any of the villagers.
 
"I'll

tell Shemaine that you brought them back.
 
She'll be grateful."

"Shamawn?"

"She-maine O'Hearn," Gage pronounced carefully for the man's benefit,