Petals on the River (42 page)

the night, attesting to her shame.
 
Though she clutched the offending

hand against her breast, she could still sense the branding heat of his

maleness against the back of it, the unexpected firmness that had grown

rapidly pronounced, leaving her breathlessly aware of the bold, mature

difference between the man and his son.
 
Despite the instincts that

urged her to hold her silence and pretend it never happened, Shemaine

implored his pardon, hoping to banish any notion that it might have been

a deliberate act on her part.
 
"I didn't mean to touch you, Mr.

Thornton."

Facing the shadowed road once more, Gage made no comment, but clicked to

the mare, urging her to a faster pace.
 
It was nigh impossible for him

to ignore the soft, womanly form beside him and, more difficult by far,

the memory of her hand brushing deliciously hard against his manhood.

Settling into a regular routine would probably take time, Shemaine

decided after the morning meal a week later, since her primary concern,

as her master had pointed out, would be taking care of Andrew.
 
Even so,

between cooking and attending the needs of the boy, she found herself

accomplishing far more than she had previously thought herself even

remotely capable of.

Gage had received word from his primary customer in Williamsburg that

delivery of the new furniture would have to be delayed for an indefinite

time.
 
The workmen were still trying to complete his house and he could

not accept the furnishings until the rooms were ready.
 
In the meantime

Gage had started work on the dining room pieces he had recently

contracted for in Newportes Newes.
 
In the evenings he drafted out the

plans, drawing patterns for the arms and legs of the chairs and

designing a new sideboard.
 
During the daylight hours, he worked with

his men on several other pieces, but frequently he could be found aboard

the ship, helping Flannery with some of the more precise work.

Before leaving the cabin on this particular morn, Gage had announced

that he would be working on the ship for most of the day.
 
If she were

of such a mind, he told Shemaine, she could bring Andrew and victuals

enough for the shipwrights and the cabinetmakers around noon, and they

could all enjoy a midday repast on the deck of the ship, as it promised

to be a fine, sunny day.

"Ring the bell by the front steps when you're ready to come to the

ship," Gage instructed after she had assured him that she would be able

to do such a thing, "and I'll send someone to fetch the food."

Shemaine immediately accepted the challenge of preparing a tasty feast

to satisfy the appetites of hardworking men.
 
While roaming around the

immediate area several days earlier, she had ventured into the root

cellar which her master had dug into a hillock near the cabin.

It was there that Shemaine and Andrew went to collect carrots, onions, l

and an assortment of other vegetables for the venison stew she would

make.
 
It would be her own version of a hearty Irish dish that Bess

Huxley had often made for Shemaine's father.
 
In no time it was

simmering above the fire.

Shemaine had set bread dough to rising earlier that morning. After

punching it down, she separated it into smaller loaves and placed them

near the warmth of the hearth for a second rising.
 
She peeled a goodly

number of potatoes and put them in a kettle to boil.
 
Then she proceeded

to make a spice cake.
 
While the latter was baking, Shemaine busied

herself doing other tasks around the cabin.

The laundering techniques of a chore maid had been an integral part of

the instructions that she had received while still under her mother's

tutelage, if for no other reason than to learn firsthand how to manage a

houseful of servants.
 
Shemaine had no trouble recalling the advice that

she had once been given.
 
With Andrew's eager assistance, she stripped

the sheets from the beds and washed them along with several linen

towels, a few of the boy's garments and the shirts which she had found

in Gage's armoire soon after her arrival.
 
She hung the clothes outside

where they could catch the breezes and the full light of the sun.
 
While

they dried, she aired the pillows, swept and damp-mopped the recently

scrubbed floors, polished the furniture and generally cleaned the

interior until it gleamed, all the while making a game of the chores to

keep Andrew entertained.
 
She even began to teach him a counting song

and laughed with pleasure at his pronunciations. He was delighted with

it all and giggled uproariously, trying hard to mimic her.

For the outing on the ship, Shemaine collected a goodly supply of

utensils, tin plates and cups from the storeroom, added a tablecloth and

napkins that she had found among the kitchen linens, and packed them all

in a basket, along with the cake that she had frosted.
 
She cut the

bread, tied it in a clean cloth, and set part of it aside for Andrew to

carry.
 
A jug of cool cider was drawn up from the well, and the kettle

of stew from the hearth was covered and placed with everything else at

the edge of the front porch.
 
Lastly she whipped and flavored the

potatoes, spooned them into a dish with a lid, and wrapped a small quilt

around it to keep them warm.

A few moments after Shemaine rang the bell hanging from the post near

the front steps, a tall gangly young man sprinted up to the cabin to

help carry the supplies and food back to the ship.
 
As he halted

pantingly on the steps, he tipped his hat politely and grinned,

transforming his rather rugged face into a very likable one.
 
Shemaine

was blackest hair she had ever seen, even in Ireland.

"mom'n, miss," he bade cheerily.
 
"I'm Gillian Morgan.
 
The cap'n sent

me ta fetch the vittles back ta the ship."

Shemaine's fleeting frown revealed her bemusement.
 
"The captain?"

"Mr.
 
Thornton, I mean, miss," Gillian readily explained. "Exceptin' he

don't like ta be called that.
 
But seein's as how Mr. Thornton is the

master-builder what designed the ship and the man what pays our wages,

not ta mention him bein' bout ten and three years older'n meself, me pa

raised a fair ta middlin' fuss over the idea o' me callin' Mr.
 
Thornton

by his Christian name.
 
So's me an' Pa dubbed him the cap'n."

"I see." Shemaine nodded and smiled.
 
"Mr.
 
Thornton did tell me that he

has an aversion to people calling him by his proper name, but I can't

bring myself to be so familiar with the man that I would feel right

using anything else."

It was Gillian's turn to be confounded.
 
"An aversion?"

"Loathing .
 
.
 
.
 
or dislike," Shemaine explained, and cocked her head

curiously.
 
"Has Mr.
 
Thornton ever explained why he doesn't like being

addressed by his proper name?"

"Well, he just said that when he was still buildin' ships for his pa,

he'd work alongside other men doin' the same job as them, but his pa

always insisted they call him Mr.
 
Thornton, cause he was the

proprietor's son.
 
The cap'n hated it, for sure."

Shemaine gestured to the covered kettle of stew and the quilt-bound bowl

of potatoes.
 
"We'd better get this food to the ship before it cools or

Mr.
 
Thornton will be hating us!"

"Aye!
 
Chewin' our hides, he'll be," Gillian offered in chuckling

agreement.
 
"He definitely has a way o' lettin' us know when he's

riled."

"He isn't mean, is he?" she questioned apprehensively.

"Nay, not mean, just particular bout the work we do for him.
 
He expects

the best we can give him.
 
Ye'll do well ta do the same, miss."

Shemaine released a soft, fretful sigh.
 
"I will surely try."

She hung the cloth that had been tied around a loaf of bread over

Andrew's arm and took his other hand as she picked up the basket.

Gillian loaded himself down with the kettle, bowl and jug, and then led

the way as she followed more slowly with the child.
 
When they came

near, Gage came down the building slip to meet them and, lifting Andrew,

took the basket from her and escorted her to the partially finished

deck.

The four cabinetmakers and the older shipwright were already waiting on

board with amiable eagerness to make her acquaintance, having hinted

(and teased) loudly enough that it was about time that Mister Thornton

stop his worrisome fretting over losing her to one of them and commit

himself to making the introductions.
 
Gillian took Andrew from his

father and started wrestling and rolling about on the deck with the boy,

evoking shrieks of giggling glee from the youngster as Gage finally

performed the formality.
 
Shemaine recognized Ramsey Tate as the man who

had been helping her master outside the cabinet shop the day following

her purchase.
 
Sly Tucker, a large, rather portly man with reddish-blond

hair and a bushy beard, was another fullfledged cabinetmaker.
 
The two

apprentices were close in age, perhaps no more than two or three years

past a score of years.
 
One was a German by the name of Erich Wernher,

an even-featured young man with dark hair and eyes, and the other was

Tom Whittaker, a handsome colonial with tan hair and gray eyes. Flannery

Morgan was a grizzled old man with nigh as many wrinkles in his

weathered face as the night sky had stars.
 
Yet he had a sharp wit that

could easily set the others to guffawing in loud mirth.

Each and every one of them showed Shemaine the proper respect due a

lady, which she readily assumed was in deference to their employer. They

rushed to lay planks across carpenter benches as she brought out a

tablecloth and then, after the linen had been spread over the makeshift

table, helped to lay out the plates and cups.
 
Because he doubled as a

circuit rider on rare occasions, Sly Tucker offered grace before the