Read Online Petals on the River by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss - Free Book Online

flat pouch at his side.
     
    I He glanced down at Shemaine.   "Are you ready?"
     
    She was anxious to be gone before Captain Fitch could think of a reason
    to delay them.   Looking around for Annie, she found the woman timidly
    answering the inquiries of the short man Morrisa had rejected.
     
    She raused a hand in a gesture of farewell and hurriedly blinked back
    the moisture that blurred her own vision as Annie responded with an
    indistinct nod and a teary-eyed gaze.   Facing her new master again,
    Shemaine sought to steel her emotions.   "I have no other possessions
    than the clothes on my back, sir, poor as they are.   I'm ready to leave
    whenever you are."
     
    "Then let us be on our way," Gage urged.   Meeting the cold-eyed glower
    of James Harper above her head, he added, "I have no further business
    here, and there seems to be a storm brewing all around us."
     
    Shemaine lifted her gaze to the darkening sky looming close above their
    heads, but when she glanced around at the angry faces of the men who
    stood nearby, she realized the colonial's statement only partially
    pertained to the weather.   Following in his wake, she allowed him to
    lead her away from those who watched them.
     
    CHAPTER 3
     
    For a man who had, of late, found frugality crucial to the furtherance
    of his ambitions, Gage Thornton realized he had just managed to suppress
    every miserly instinct he was capable of mustering in his determination
    to have Shemaine O'Hearn.   No one could have guessed from his apparent
    eagerness to offer such a sizable purse that he would now have to
    postpone the purchase of much-needed building supplies for his ship
    until he could collect payment for several pieces of furniture he had
    recently finished for wealthy patrons living in Williamsburg.   It was a
    delay he would not normally have entertained. Yet here he was, the owner
    of this bondswoman, and he could not have been more delighted had he
    spent the last year methodically planning and saving for the event.   It
    was a rarity indeed to have one of his goals attained without first
    expending a grievous amount of planning, hard work, and careful
    scrimping toward its acquisition.
     
    As for Shemaine, she had settled her mind on the fact that her papers of
    indenture were now owned by the colonial, Gage Thornton.   For the next
    seven years of her life, she would be subject to his authority.   She
    would keep his house, care for his child, and do all that was reasonably
    expected of a servant.   Much remained to be seen, but for the moment at
    least her situation did not seem terribly offensive.   In fact, she was
    relieved that it had turned out as well as it had.   It seemed doubtful
    she would have cause to remember her departure from the London pride
    with any import, except that it was equivalent to being given a reprieve
    from hell.
     
    Gage stepped from the gangplank to the cobblestone quay and casually
    turned to offer assistance to his newly procured chattel, prompting
    Shemaine to flick a wary glance over the lean hand that was extended
    toward her.   It had a recently scrubbed appearance that made her
    painfully conscious of just how utterly grubby her own hands were. Yet
    the man had inspected her palms only a few moments ago and had to be
    fully aware of just what he would be touching.   Abashed by the sharp
    contrast, she reluctantly accepted his hand and found it deeply callused
    from hard work, his fingers thin and strong.   Yet, surprisingly, his
    skin felt smooth beneath the soft texture of her own, as if conditioned
    by some strange oil or ointment.
     
    No sooner had Shemaine stepped to the quay than she was struck with
    thoughts of retreating to the wooden gangplank.   The frigidity of the
    stones beneath her bare feet made her anxious for something warmer upon
    which to stand, and if that was not enough to make her falter, the
    breezes that whipped through an invisible channel between the ships
    anchored against