Petals on the River (6 page)

this overstuffed grouse who, with her wickedly vindictive ways, had

pecked away at the lives of the prisoners.
 
Snatching the kerchief from

her head, Shemaine threw caution literally to the wind and let the

bright strands of hair whip out around her in riotous confusion,

silently challenging the older woman, whose face slowly contorted with

murderous hatred.

"You're a vile witch, Shemaine O'Hearn," Gertrude hissed through

gnashing teeth.
 
"I pity the fool whotll buy you!"

I Of a sudden, the scudding breezes strengthened and swept across the

deck, snatching Shemaine from a morass of morbid uncertainty as she met

Gertrude's blazing glower.
 
It dawned on her that she had much to be

grateful for, for she had proven herself capable of existing under the

most intolerable conditions, many of which this woman had purposely

created.
 
Yet, for all of the abuse and venomous reproofs she had

endured, Shemaine knew, without a doubt, that she was still wonderfully,

desperately alive!
 
And that achievement was truly a thing to be

thankful for!

"And a very good day to you, Mrs.
 
Fitch," she called, lending a

cheeriness to her Irish-infected greeting despite her aversion to the

termagant.
 
"Did I not tell you I'd survive the pit again, and here I am

for yourself to see!"

Gertrude's lips tightened in a sneer.
 
"More's the pity, Shemaine.

More's the pity.
 
But then, you may not be so lucky in the next seven

years."

CHAPTER 2

The call boy blew his whistle, giving the signal for the waiting crowd

of colonials to come aboard.
 
Though most of the men had come to the

ship intending to acquire field hands, they strolled leisurely past the

female convicts as if seriously disposed toward making a purchase, at

least until they reached Morrisa, who had settled in a provocative

stance near the mizzenmast.
 
They stared agog at her overt display and

seemed unable to turn away.
 
Their wives and other townswomen passed her

by, lifting their noses in obvious disdain, and devoted their

consideration to more practical possibilities.
 
A short, balding man

gaped in slackjawed awe at the harlot's generous proportions, but when

he made an attempt to question her, Morrisa waved him away in annoyance.

"Go way, li'l toad," she snapped.
 
"I'm lookin' for a real man ta buy

me."

The man's face darkened to a mottled red as he glowered at her, but

Morrisa drew her lips back in distaste and made a hissing sound as if

she were a snake frightening off a predator.
 
Highly offended, he

s[umbled back a few steps and straightened his coat with an angry jerk.

"They drown witches here, ye know!" he warned direly.
 
Then he sniffed

in sharp disfavor and stalked off to join another handful of men who

were scrutinizing Shemaine and some of the younger women.

It was almost more than Shemaine could bear to have the settlers sizing

her up like so much merchandise.
 
For this one and that, she had to

stand and submit to a careful inspection of her teeth, hands, and arms.

Her polite answers elicited approving nods from the women, but the

warming glint in the men's eyes conveyed a more lurid imagination. The

idea that she could be purchased merely to appease a prurient appetite

was completely appalling, and she breathed a desperate plea that she

would soon be bought by a kindly mistress who might patiently instruct

her on the duties of a household servant.

"You women there!" James Harper called from the rail.
 
"Step over here

at once and give this man your attention!" He jerked a thumb to indicate

a tall, dark-haired colonial who stood beside him.
 
"Hig name is Gage

Thornton, and he's here in search of a nursemaid to care for his

two-year-old son."

A flurry of conjectures arose from the townspeople, and they gawked at

the man as if he had suddenly grown two heads.
 
Though Shemaine

recognized him as the one who had kept to himself on the wharf, and the

only one of the lot whom she had deemed young enough to offer some hope

of fulfilling Annie's wishes, she could not fathom the reason for the

amount of attention he was receiving.

Shemaine gave the tiny woman a gentle shove to encourage her. "Hurry,

Annie!
 
This may be your only chance!"

Annie was eager to comply and wasted no time in her attempt to be at the

vanguard of those who surged forward.
 
It was apparent from the

enthusiasm of the other females that they, too, wanted the position Mr.

Thornton offered.
 
Young and old alike shoved and clawed their way

toward him, for without a doubt the duties of nursemaid were greatly

desired above those of a scullery maid, a field hand or the like.

"Remember you are ladies," Harper cautioned, wondering if he would soon

have to quell the ruckus.

Shemaine was the only woman who refrained from joining the melee, but a

deepening curiosity began to take root as she regarded the man. His

sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, as if he had left some important

task behind to make his way to the ship, yet his tense frown and rigid

jaw strongly hinted of his distaste for the errand he was on, especially

since it seemed likely he would be caught in the midst of an eye-gouging

fray.
 
Grimy fingers clung to the homespun shirt and hide breeches that

covered the man's frame, while some women, with admiring oos and ahhs,

were bold enough to stroke the torpid bulge casually defined by the

clinging deerskin.

"Ladies!" Harper chided testily.
 
"Hands off the buyer, please!"

"Awwh, mate," a snaggletoothed doxy grumbled in exaggerated

disappointment.
 
"He's the finest bloke we've seen in a goodly time that

he is!
 
Sides, we can't sees where a li'l lovin' fondle would hurt the

bloke none.
 
Saints alive!
 
We needs it more'n him!"

Three months sharing the same cell with these women had not been nearly

enough time to dull Shemaine's sense of propriety.
 
Acutely embarrassed

for her gender, she also sensed the colonial's annoyance as he briefly

lifted his gaze skyward.
 
If he had sudden regrets about coming aboard

the London Pride or, by chance, was silently pleading for intervention

from above, it was much too late for either.
 
Among her companions he

remained the center of attention, and with good reason, Shemaine had to

admit.

In a face that was intensely handsome and tanned golden by the sun, his

eyes gleamed like warm brown crystals shot through with shards of amber.

Shadowed by brooding, well-defined brows, they were darkly lashed and

wonderfully translucent.
 
His nose was thin and sculptured with a

subtle, aristocratic curve that any noble Grecian might have envied. His

cheekbones would have been equally coveted, for they were leanly fleshed

and pleasantly prominent.
 
Devoid of a beard, the jaw and chin were

crisply wrought beneath bronzed skin.
 
It was entirely a man's face and

no less the torso beneath it.

He stood nearly a head taller than the stockier Mr.
 
Harper, and though

he was neither massively built nor one of great overwhelming brawn, his

wide shoulders were sleekly buttressed by a tautly muscled chest that

tapered to a trim waist and narrow hips.
 
If the iron-thewed arms were

any indication, then the rest of him had to be as hard as tempered

steel.

The settler's expression grew pained as his eyes slowly scanned the

women who stood around him.
 
When Morrisa elbowed her way toward him,

rudely displacing another with a sharp nudge of her hip, his dark

eyebrows came together with the intensity of a thunderclap.
 
He didn't

seem the least bit intrigued by the transparency of her sagging blouse,

only annoyed by her impertinence.

"Ain't ye a handsome bloke," the strumpet cooed.
 
Coyly tracing a finger

along his forearm, she smiled up at him.
 
"Me name's Morrisa Hatcher,

gov'na, an' I'd be o'erwhelmed with delight ta tend yer chit."

Gage Thornton was now convinced that he had come on a fool's errand.

Only a short time ago he had been resolved to ignore the inevitable

brashness of the female prisoners on the slim chance that among them he

might find one who would meet his qualifications, but he was quickly

losing patience with this whole preposterous idea of his. How could he,

even in his wildest imagination, have ever hoped to obtain from such an

unlikely source so rare an acquisition as he had mentally conjured?

Perhaps his desperation had surpassed even the degree he had realized it

had reached.
 
He was determined to accept nothing less than his ideal,

but it was becoming increasingly apparent that the kind of woman he was

looking for wasn't to be found aboard a convict ship.

"I have different qualifications in mind than the ones you generously

display, Miss Hatcher.
 
I'm afraid you do not suit my purposes."

Morrisa nodded knowingly as she jeered, "Afraid o' yer wife, are ye?"

Gage felt his vitals slowly twist with indignation.
 
This woman had no

idea, of course, what he had gone through since Victoria's death, and

certainly no stormy retort would enlighten her.
 
"Your pardon," he

replied succinctly.
 
"My wife was killed in an accident a year ago. Were

she alive today, I assure you I wouldn't be on this damn fool errand."

Timidly Annie stepped forward to tug at the man's sleeve.
 
"Me name's

Annie Carver, sir.
 
Me own babe was sold soon after I boarded the ship,

so tis me earnest wish ta have a wee one ta care for.
 
I can promise ye

I'd cherish yer son as me very own, sir." She blushed in sudden

confusion and wrung her hands as she added, "That is, if ye'd be o' a

mind ta lay out the coins ta buy me."

Gage's indomitable gaze softened somewhat as he looked down at the

small, plain-faced woman, but her garbled speech bespoke her lack of