A lesson on loading and firing a muzzleloader commenced shortly after supper four days later. Gage approached Shemaine soon after she had dried and put away the dishes. For the sake of caution, he bade Andrew to stay on the back porch and play with his blocks where they could keep a close eye on him, well away from the target which Gage proceeded to set up in the opposite direction. Before giving his bondswoman a weapon, Gage explained its proper loading and priming, then carefully demonstrated the procedure. He fired a shot and then watched closely as she readied the rifle for another one.
Prior to letting her shoot, Gage warned Shemaine that pulling the trigger would only be the first step in the lengthy process of firing a rifle. Once the hammer fell and hit the frizzen, the flint would touch off sparks to ignite the powder, which would then explode and launch the lead shot through the barrel. Altogether, it would seem like a full moment had passed before the flintlock fired, but of course it wouldn’t take quite that long.
Gage suggested a convenient way for her to hold the firearm so the weight of it wouldn’t tire her arms overmuch and, to critique her stance, stepped close behind her to adjust the weapon in her grasp. The warm pressure of his long body casually conforming to her back was enormously distracting to Shemaine, and in a few short moments the simple act of breathing became difficult. It was a turnabout, to be sure, to find herself coping with her own reaction to his proximity; an uncontrollable trembling being the least of it. She certainly could not judge the man too harshly for the blatant desire she had glimpsed in his eyes a few nights back when she now felt her own heart rush to a swifter pace each and every time the inside of his arm grazed her breast or his thighs brushed against her buttocks. Her skirts lent her no protection. Indeed, she would have required a sturdy suit of armor to shield herself from the searing contact of his male form. She could not imagine her tutor remaining oblivious to her chaotically thumping heart, but if by some chance he was, then she most definitely was not. It took great resolve for her not to bolt and run.
Despite her nervous agitation, the horrendous noise of the gunshots, and the jolt of the stock against her shoulder that slammed her back against the man, Shemaine managed to glean a goodly amount of knowledge about the proper handling of firearms. Though his nearness flustered her no small degree, Gage made shooting almost as much of a thrill as dancing at a ball. She was delighted with her ability as a novice to hit a stationary target and eagerly anticipated the day when she could fix her sights on a moving mark and shoot a hole through it as well. She suffered serious doubts about her ability to kill an animal or a man and fervently hoped the day would never come when her mettle would be tested in such a way, but she knew she would probably find herself of a different mind-set entirely if she ever had to face the threat of being beaten senseless or even killed by Jacob Potts.
“ ‘Twould seem, my girl, you’re a natural at hitting the target,” Gage boasted in her behalf the next day. “Now let’s see what you can do with a moving target.”
Gillian had volunteered to throw a tin plate high into the air for them, but Gage, having taken up a position close behind Shemaine, had slipped his arms around her to help her hold the weapon and to lead her through the procedure from the first sighting and finally the firing. Although Gage would allow her to actually aim the flintlock and pull the trigger, he was there to make sure none of the shots went wild. But he could feel her whole body trembling against him and, mistaking her trepidation, tried to soothe whatever fears she had.
“You’re doing exceptionally well for a beginner, Shemaine, so just relax and let me show you how to swing through a target.”
Well before the shot was made, Shemaine realized that it was nigh impossible for her to concentrate on sighting anything, for her thoughts were completely engrossed with the man, not the weapon in her grasp. Once the rifle went off, missing the plate by a lengthy margin, and the exploding shot had slammed her back against the stalwart form, a startled gasp was wrenched from her, and with good reason. It was definitely a shock to her womanly being to find her soft buttocks suddenly buttressing a rock-hard thigh. Had she sat upon hot coals, her reaction would have been no different, for she jerked away as if her backside had been scalded.
“That wasn’t nearly as good as what you did yesterday, but we’ll try again,” Gage commented casually, leaning close over her shoulder so he could have some idea where she would be aiming the next time. He was not oblivious to her soft form within the circle of his arms, but he had made up his mind to crush his wayward thoughts, especially during her lessons. “No need to be nervous now, Shemaine. Just relax.”
There is absolutely every reason to be nervous! Shemaine thought in a panic, feeling his chest pressing against her back and his arm casually encircling her as he held a hand beneath the barrel of the flintlock so its weight wouldn’t drain her strength. Of a sudden, she felt suffocated, unable to breathe, and she knew she would have to escape ere she embarrassed herself completely.
Throwing off his arms, she left the flintlock in his grasp and bolted away with a breathless excuse. “I’ve got to knead my bread! I don’t have time for any more lessons now.”
“Shemaine, where are you go—? Come back here!” His mouth dropped open as she lifted her skirts and raced off toward the back porch. Totally bemused, he exchanged a glance with Gillian, who was just as mystified.
The younger man shrugged, contemplated the tin plate that was still intact and, lifting it for his employer’s inspection, grinned as he stated the obvious. “Well, at least ye can still eat vittles from this one.”
The next day Hannah Fields and her two younger sons came for a visit, much to the delight of Andrew. The three boys romped and played in the back yard while Shemaine and the older woman watched from the, porch and got to know each other better.
“Yer master’s li’l tyke is adorable,” the portly, jolly-faced woman declared, smiling as her eyes followed Andrew about the yard. “ ‘Tis certain his father is bringin’ him up good an’ true.”
“Have you known Mr. Thornton for long?” Shemaine queried, wanting to understand the man better. Though on the night of her confrontation with the snake she had glimpsed a sensual hunger in his eyes that had made her more than a little uneasy about being alone with him, since then Gage Thornton had treated her with all the consideration a gentleman might show a lady. She could not, of course, read his mind, and at sundry times, when she glanced up and caught him regarding her so intently, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking . . . or perhaps yearning for.
“ ’bout as long as yer master’s lived here,” Hannah answered with a chortle. “We settled here a couple o’ years afore Gage came. His missus was a real lady, she was. Not so much high-minded or haughty like some are, ye understand, but kindly an’ sweet-natured. I ne’er saw a woman what loved her mister as much as she did Mr. Thornton. Some say he didn’t deserve her ’cause he didn’t love nothin’ but his ship, yet ‘tis been much on me mind that whate’er work he did, he did as much for her as he did for himself.”
“Mr. Thornton has certainly proven himself an ambitious and talented man,” Shemaine observed, sweeping a hand to indicate the neat path meandering from the porch through the fruit trees and on out to the barns and buildings he had constructed. “I can see proof of his hard work everywhere I turn.”
Hannah flicked her eyes toward Shemaine, wondering just what she had been told about her master. It seemed unlikely the girl would have been so casually resigned to her indentureship if she had heard any part of what Mrs. Pettycomb and her circle of bigoted friends were prone to say behind Gage Thornton’s back. The gossips were eager to delve into malicious speculation and sometimes lent voice to such wild imaginings that few could withstand their attacks. Gage had done so. With stoic determination, he had continued working as usual, daring anybody else to face him with their tales. Whatever the truth about Victoria’s fatal fall, Hannah had no intention of spreading the like of such talk herself. Wrongfully maligning an innocent man was a serious offense in her own mind, no matter how much Alma Pettycomb and others like her were wont to disregard the damage their long tongues could do.
“I came prepared ta teach ye what li’l I know ’bout cookin’,” Hannah informed Shemaine with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “But yer master told me soon after I arrived that ye’ve been doin’ well enough on yer own . . . so’s I’m thinkin’ ye maybe don’t need me help.”
“Actually, I would love to learn to make biscuits the way they make them at the tavern . . . that is, if you know how,” Shemaine replied eagerly. “I had sea biscuits on the voyage over here, but they were nothing like the ones at the tavern. It took a strong stomach to tolerate those things, what with all the maggots and such that were oftentimes found in them.”
“We can make a batch o’ biscuits for the noon meal,” the older woman suggested with a merry laugh. “I brought a basket o’ food with me, thinkin’ ye might be a bit tired o’ yer own cookin’. The biscuits’ll be a tasty addition ta the vittles.”
“Perhaps we should bring the boys in to play in the cabin while we cook,” Shemaine said worriedly. “Recently I had such a fright with a poisonous snake, I fret that another may be near.”
“Those nasty things! They make me blood turn cold with fear! There’s some they call rattlers, an’ if’n ye’ve e’er heard one, ye know the reason why.”
“I’ve heard one already, and it was too close for comfort,” Shemaine replied with a shudder.
Hannah clapped her hands loudly together as she called to the youngsters. “Come in now, boys. An’ Malcolm an’ Duncan, I want ye ta mind yer manners in Mr. Thornton’s nice, clean house. I wouldn’t have Mistress Shemaine thinkin’ I’m raisin’ a pack o’ wild hooligans upriver.”
As boys are wont to do once they’ve been confined to small areas, they began to wrestle and play rough. Andrew got the worst of it, being the youngest, and Shemaine felt her own heart catch when he got knocked around in the scuffling. In seeking to protect him, she tried finesse in separating the three. The older ones were used to playing with each other and were far tougher than she deemed safe for Andrew, but he was brave despite the bruises he acquired and went back into the frisky fray with a cry of glee. The boisterous tussling, however, was sharply curtailed when Hannah finally blared an order at her sons, bringing them to swift and alert attention.
“I told ye boys ta mind yer manners, an’ if’n ye don’t, I’ll be layin’ ye both ‘cross me knees an’ paddlin’ yer bare backsides good an’ proper. An’ ye know I mean what I say!”
From then on, the two boys could have been likened to little angels, except for the devilish gleams in their eyes. But they obviously understood their mother was serious with her threats, for they even consented to take a nap with Andrew while Hannah and Shemaine cleaned up the kitchen.
Before coming to visit, Hannah had prepared a meal for her own family and had left her daughters with the task of serving supper if she returned late, so when Gage encouraged his neighbor to stay and share the evening fare with them, Hannah readily accepted, welcoming the respite from her enormous duties as mother and wife. It was obvious she relished the food Shemaine had prepared, and when Gage encouraged her to indulge herself in a second helping, she readily complied. Afterward, Hannah pushed back from the table with a groan.
“I hope me boat don’t sink on the way home, ’cause I’d ne’er be able ta swim ta shore. Me poor Charlie would ne’er forgive me for leavin’ him with the task o’ raisin’ our brood by his lonesome.”
Gage grinned. “Would you care to be escorted home?”
Hannah cast him a glance askance, her eyes glittering with puckish delight. “I should accept yer offer after all yer wicked attempts ta fatten me up,” she chided jovially, then waved away the possibility. “If’n the boat starts sinkin’ I’ll just tie a rope ’round Malcolm an’ Duncan an’ let ’em swim home.”
“Ma!” the boys cried in unison, and stared at their mother with mouths agape. At her resulting laughter, they made much of her threat as they poked bony fingers at each other.
“Malcolm’s gonna be the first!”
“Nah, Ma! Throw Duncan out! I wanna see him swim home!”
“I’ll throw ye both out!” Hannah warned as they began to wrestle and wallop each other.
Gage chuckled as the woman looked at him in helpless appeal and, with waggish humor, proposed, “You could lassoo both of them now and save yourself the trouble later.”
“Ye ain’t suggestin’ nothin’ I ain’t already thought o’ meself,” their mother declared, heaving an exasperated sigh. “The way they tear ’round with each other, ‘twill be a wonder for sure if those boys survive ‘til they’re full grown.”
“Imagine their future as valiant soldiers or something of that sort,” Gage suggested with a grin. “They’re getting all the experience they’ll ever need right now.”
“Ye can say that, sure enough! But there be times I’d like a li’l truce betwixt the battles so’s I can learn a li’i strategy o’ me own . . . like how ta knock their noggins together without gettin’ me fingers smashed.”
The woman’s humor was too much for Shemaine to bear soberly. Having overheard their conversation as she readied Andrew’s bath, she tried to squelch her giggles as she lifted a caldron of steaming water from the fireplace hook. Her mirth proved unruly, for it kept escaping in brief snatches as she rushed the kettle to the back corridor and soon became uncontrollably and highly infectious, making the rounds first to Andrew and then to Gage and Hannah, who had stepped near the front door. Many months had passed since the cabin had overflowed with such joyful sounds. For Gage, it was like a magic elixir warming his whole being.
Finally the chortles subsided, and Hannah, preparing to take her leave, waved a hand toward the front porch as she asked a favor. “If’n ye don’t mind, Gage, I left a pair o’ chairs for ye ta mend when ye’ve got some time ta spare. It needn’t be right away, ye understand, but it’d be nice ta have ’em afore the year is out. The chairs don’t look it at first peek, but the backs are nigh ta fallin’ ‘way from the seats. ‘Tain’t safe sittin’ in ’em.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Hannah,” Gage assured her. “But are you sure you won’t be needing them before year’s end?”
“We’ve got more’n enough chairs for our own family. ‘Twill only be Christmas that we’ll be needin’ ’em for kinfolk. Charlie’s brothers an’ sisters’ll be comin’, an’ there’s so many, it’ll be like an army invadin’ us.”
Gage chuckled at the idea of having so much time to repair them. “I might not get around to repairing them for a month or two, but I’ll have them ready well before Christmas. If you need them sooner, just let me know. Until then, I’ll keep them on the porch as a reminder.”
Hannah cocked her head and paused to listen to the song that Shemaine was singing to Andrew in the back corridor, where she was bathing him. It was a bright and airy tune, definitely of Irish origin, and the voice was as sweet and pleasing as any Hannah had ever heard. The matron looked up at Gage and smiled. “If’n ye’re not aware of it, Gage Thornton, yer bondswoman could teach me a thing or two, and it wouldn’t be ’bout cookin’ either. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, that she does, not ta mention havin’ a voice o’ an angel. I’m thinkin’ I ought ta come over an’ sit in on some o’ Andrew’s readin’ lessons once they start. I was ne’er much good at that sort o’ thing.”
“Shemaine is everything I had hoped to find and more,” Gage admitted.
“And ye said she couldn’t cook,” Hannah chided affably, shaking her head.
Gage lifted his wide shoulders in a casual shrug. “I don’t think Shemaine realizes yet just how talented she really is. She’s a wonder when cooking food, but she mothers Andrew as if he were her very own. The boy is quite taken with her.”
“Aye, I saw their affection for each other this mornin’ when Shemaine was tryin’ ta protect Andy from me boys. She didn’t know quite how ta go ’bout it for fear o’ woundin’ me feelin’s. I let the roughhousin’ go on for a wee bit just ta see how she’d react, an’ I can tell ye true, no mother hen e’er watched over one o’ her biddies with as much concern as she showed for yer son.”
“Shemaine seems naturally inclined to be a mother,” Gage responded. “I think she has a special gift for bringing peace and assurance to the child, making him feel wanted, nurtured . . . and loved.”
Hannah smiled in satisfaction as she discerned the change that had also taken place in the man. All the girl’s attributes which he had claimed Andrew had benefited from had obviously touched him as well. He seemed far more relaxed and at peace with himself than she had seen him since that horrible day of Victoria’s death. “ ‘Tis fortunate ye are ta have found Shemaine. Women like her are not usually ta be had for any size purse.”
A distant mewling invaded Shemaine’s slumber, but she was reluctant to be parted from her dreams. Once again she had experienced the thrill and exhilaration of racing across her father’s countryside estate on the back of her stallion, Donegal. She had felt the wind whipping her hair, snatching at the hem of her habit, and had rejoiced in the freedom to ride in whatever direction caught her fancy.
Her revelry gradually dissipated as the whimpering continued and the bars of Newgate Prison closed around her. She was haunted once again by the cries and hopeless sobs of the destitute, the shuffling feet and restless pacing that were always accompanied by the clank of chains. The dreadful black despair of utter gloom swept over her, almost smothering the breath from her.
Shemaine came upright with a sharp gasp and, as her heart thumped frantically against the wall of her chest, she peered intently into the darkness around her, searching for the dour-faced inmates of Newgate and waiting in apprehension for the scraping feet to approach. By slow, agonizing degrees Shemaine managed to separate reality from the deluding dimensions of sleep and finally realized that what she was actually hearing was Andrew whimpering in his bedroom downstairs. She listened for several moments longer, expecting to hear some movement of the elder Thornton in response to the plaintive sobs, but the weeping grew louder and, it seemed, a bit more frightened. She could not imagine Gage sleeping through his son’s tears, and she began to chafe. What if something had happened to his father? Or if the elder had gone to the privy and couldn’t hear Andrew?
Feeling an urgency to comfort the boy, Shemaine tossed aside the covers and shrugged into her dressing robe as she hurriedly descended. The door of Gage’s bedroom stood open, but the firelight from the kitchen hearth, combined with the moonlight streaming through the windows above the bed, provided enough illumination to assure her that her master was not in the parlor or his bedroom. Cautiously she crept through the elder’s private quarters toward Andrew’s small nook, half afraid that she had been mistaken and she would bump into the man before reaching the boy. But her fears proved groundless. There was no one but Andrew there.
The sobs were coming more harshly now, wrenching Shemaine’s heart, and she quickly crossed to the child’s trundle bed and gathered him up in her arms. Soothing him with a cradlesong, she paced about the room as she snuggled him close against her, kissed his tear-streaked cheek and smoothed his tousled hair. Gradually the frightened crying ceased and the child’s breathing deepened, but when she sought to put him down again, a fearful gasp escaped him. Once again she held him close and retraced her steps from his bed to the much larger one in the master’s bedroom, back and forth, over and over until she felt the tiny head begin to droop over her shoulder. She hushed her singing and, in slow stages, halted her pacing, wanting to make absolutely sure that the boy would stay asleep once she returned him to his bed.
Shemaine was admiring his handsome features in the meager light, swaying from side to side, when she became mindful of a presence in the larger room. It was not so much the sound of the man’s entrance that alerted her as it was his shivering shudder as he stepped to the far side of the bed. She glanced up, intending to explain her reason for intruding into his private domain, but words failed her when she saw him standing naked in a shaft of moonlight. Tiny droplets of water gleamed like diamonds over his muscular torso and limbs, evidencing his recent dip in the stream outside. At present, he had a towel over his head and was vigorously rubbing his hair. Apparently he had not yet become aware of her.
Shemaine, however, was acutely conscious of him. She had never seen a naked man before, and the sight of that long, powerful form was rather shocking to her virginal senses. Yet at the same time she was completely enthralled with the beauty and bold, manly grace of it. As his clothes had revealed, his shoulders were incredibly wide and had no need of the padding that pompous lords usually demanded in their coats. His broad chest tapered sleekly to a tautly muscled waist and narrow hips. A thin line of hair traced downward from his lightly furred chest across his flat, hard belly, drawing her eyes irresistibly lower.
Her cheeks burning, her heart hammering wildly, Shemaine stood frozen, unable to drag her gaze away. For all of her mother’s delicate, somewhat embarrassed descriptions of the male form and her gentle counseling about what to expect once she married Maurice, Shemaine realized that she had not expected quite so much . . . maturity!
Having no wish to draw attention to herself and thereby suffer the humiliation of having her master know that she had looked upon his male nudity and not fled like a flustered maid, Shemaine retreated very slowly, very quietly, stepping backward toward Andrew’s small room. Even so, her racing thoughts could find no way of escape, not when she knew she would eventually have to pass near the man.
Suddenly Shemaine halted, aware of a change taking place in the manly loins. The male flesh was now becoming much more pronounced and obtrusive.
Her gaze flew upward, piercing the shafts of moonlight and shadowed spaces, until she met the silvery-lit orbs smiling at her from the far side of the bed. The towel lay about Gage’s sturdy neck, and his aims hung relaxed at his sides. The black hair, wetly spiked and wildly tossed, gleamed in the gloom.
“I’m sorry,” she strangled out, painfully aware that she had been apologizing much too often since her indentureship. “Andrew was crying, and I didn’t know where you had gone!”
In the silence that followed, Shemaine pivoted crisply about on bare feet and lowered the boy into his bed. Feeling the heat of shame consume her, she closed her eyes, trembling in every part of her body as she struggled to gather her scattered wits. Despite her best efforts, a vision of what she had just seen was now forever lodged in her memory. It blazed before her mind’s eye as clearly as if she still stared at the man.
Whirling, Shemaine kept her gaze carefully averted from that male nakedness as she fled to the open door and made her escape into the parlor. In her haste she stumbled on the stairs and gritted her teeth against the sudden pain throbbing in her bruised shin, but she did not pause. Flinging herself into her cot, she turned her face to the wall and yanked the covers up over her head, wishing fervently the world would dissolve around her.