Petals on the River

“Too many for the two of us to finish off with flintlocks,” Gage muttered, snatching on hide boots.

  “I can help,” Shemaine offered, uncovering her head again but clasping the bed linens close beneath her chin.

  “You stay put!” Gage barked sternly, turning to her. “It’s too dangerous. I’d rather let them blow the damn ship than lose you!”

  “But, Gage, you taught me how to shoot!” she argued, trying to fasten the gown at her throat. “And you know I usually hit what I aim at now!”

  William interceded in the couple’s dispute. “To win the day, Gage, we’ll need every weapon at our disposal. If Shemaine can stay behind a tree and fire at the brigands, then she may be able to keep them pinned down for a moment or two while we board the ship.”

  Gage bent a worried frown upon his wife as he shoved a pair of pistols into the waist of his breeches. “I guess you can help, but only if you promise to stay back a ways where they can’t see you.”

  Shemaine had no time to respond as William urged, “Hurry, Gage!”

  William ran from the room, and his son followed close behind as Shemaine jumped from their bed and snatched up her robe. Gage grabbed up another pair of muzzleloaders from a parlor cabinet, tossed one to his father, and then slapped a pistol into his hand. They hurriedly loaded the weapons and left.

  Beyond the front door, Gage quickly took the lead and sprinted on ahead. A moment later the door was pushed slowly open again, and Shemaine crept out with a flintlock pistol. She flitted through the shadows toward the nearest tree and paused there as she watched Gage and his father go on ahead.

  The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, allowing Gage to view the activity around the ship. As he neared the building slip, one of the miscreants espied him and shouted a warning. Grabbing a pistol from his belt, the man took a shot at Gage, bringing his accomplices’ attention to bear upon the father and son. The lead ball zinged harmlessly past, and Gage promptly repaid the fellow by firing the rifle, sending the brigand sprawling backward with a large hole in his chest.

  Gage had no time to reload and tossed the rifle aside. He snatched the pistols from his trousers just as his father raised the rifle and sent another fellow to his doom, halting that one before he could fire his pistol at Gage. William ran forward, scooping up the man’s weapon, and immediately made use of it as another culprit settled the sights of a flintlock upon him. The ruffian was jerked abruptly backward as the lead ball hit him squarely in the chest. As the man collapsed, two smaller rapscallions rushed forward to tackle William. He swept a pistol across the face of one, sending the man reeling away, and confronted the other with a sharp jab of a fist against a stubbled chin. Stumbling back, the rogue waited a moment for his spinning world to stop turning and then ran forward again for more of the same punishment.

  Gage was already leaping up the building slip. Firing at the first two men he met, he shot one in the face and the other in the throat. As a towering, bulky giant came lumbering toward him across the deck, Gage snatched up a wooden cudgel and swung the club with brutal force against the man’s bald pate. The huge hulk staggered back several steps with a stunned look, but after a sharp shake of his head, he reclaimed what senses he had and settled a menacing glower upon his adversary. With a loud snarl of rage, he rushed forward with an ungainly gait and, as the club was raised for another blow, he swept it away with a roar and an angry swipe of his hand.

  Gage ducked as the giant thrust a broad fist toward his face, causing his weighty opponent to totter off balance. The oaf quickly recovered, and Gage feinted forward, trying to snatch up the cudgel from the deck. But the brute, realizing what his opponent was after, seized it within his own grasp. Gage promptly retreated, but he was brought up short by the stack of powder kegs that had been heaped all together. His adversary stole the advantage and, leaping forward, swung the cudgel with a backward stroke of his arm. A sudden brilliant flash of pain flared through Gage’s head as the bat forcefully scraped his head, and he stumbled away in a dazed stupor.

  The giant chortled in glee, seeing the smaller man at his mercy, and threw aside the club. Cracking his knuckles in anticipation, he stalked forward menacingly.

  William gained the top of the building slip just in time to see a brawny fist driving into his son’s face. Gage sprawled back upon the casks and, after a moment, sluggishly pushed himself upright on an elbow, but the giant was already moving in for the kill.

  William raised the sights of his pistol toward the man and began to squeeze the trigger, but before he could complete the motion, the roar of another flintlock echoed in resounding waves across the ship. Ever so slowly, the huge brigand’s knees buckled, twisting oddly beneath him as his body began to collapse. Blood glistened wetly in the rosy shades of the coming dawn as it oozed from a large hole in his head and cascaded down over his ear. William turned in wonder, curious to know who had brought about the culprit’s demise.

  Shemaine stood at the top of the building slip with a smoking flintlock still clutched in her hands. Even in the meager light William could see that she was shaking uncontrollably, having now killed a man.

  A cry of rage brought their attention to bear upon the portly man scrambling up from the companionway. Upon reaching the deck, Horace Turnbull halted and wheezed air into his lungs as he surveyed the carnage in the dawning light. In his hand he still clasped the pike, a weapon he had learned to use as a foot soldier at a much younger age. A broken leg had seen him cashiered from the ranks, but by then he had already acquired a skill and a fondness for the lance. It had become a keepsake of sorts, for he had started acquiring his wealth by both devious and slightly more honest methods soon after his leg had mended. He still carried the weapon on missions such as these, for he had never learned proficiency with black-powder firearms, and he never knew who might seek revenge.

  Horace Turnbull’s eyes flared brightly as he fixed his gaze upon the one who had sailed away from Portsmouth with his cargo long years ago. The man sat on a cask with his head cradled in a hand, completely vulnerable to his whim and unaware of the danger he was in.

  Turnbull hauled back the pike and took aim. “Look now, Lord Thornton,” he bellowed, having recognized his lordship right off. “See how I will now exact vengeance on you both . . . for your son, death. For you, the agony of his loss, for ‘twas you who sent him to pirate my cargo!”

  “Turnbull, nooo!” William railed, but it was too late.

  The lance was already flying forward.

  Shemaine screamed, but there was absolutely nothing she could do but watch in paralyzed horror. William, however, was not willing to give his son up to the grave so soon after he had found him. With strength born of desperation, he leapt forward, throwing himself in front of Gage. The pike sank deep into his back, wrenching a startled gasp from him. Then, almost stiltedly, he staggered about to face Turnbull and lifted his arm, painfully taking aim with the pistol he had not yet fired.

  The wealthy shipping baron gaped into the bore of the flintlock and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he stared into the face of death. Raising his gaze to William, he shook his head frantically. “No . . . please! You mustn’t!” he blubbered, and began to bargain pleadingly, “I’ll give you all my wealth. . . .”

  The pistol barked in an ear-numbing explosion, projecting the small leaden ball through the air. A second later it seemed to bore a third eye between Turnbull’s brows. Like a stiff statue, the man toppled backward into the companionway, where he lay with head slanting downward on the stairs, his eyes open but unseeing.

  Shemaine ran to William as his legs began to give way beneath him. Bracing him up with her own body, she eased him to the top of a cask near the one Gage sat on. Blood flowed from the wound in William’s back, turning his white nightshirt ominously dark in the meager light. Shemaine pressed a hand upon his shoulder and, grasping the wooden shaft, tried to pull it out, but her efforts proved futile, for it refused to come free.

  The sound of running footfal
ls came from the building slip, bringing Shemaine around with a start, but her breath eased out in a long sigh of relief when she saw Gillian. In increasing apprehension the young man had taken account of the bodies scattered around the ship as he hurried to the slip. Now he also saw one on the deck and another in the companionway. He looked at Shemaine, totally astounded.

  “What happened?”

  “Never mind that now, Gillian,” she replied anxiously. “Help me get Gage and his father down to the cabin. They’ve both been hurt, his lordship seriously.”

  The situation demanded action. Gillian could see that for himself. He ran back to the rail and looked toward the small craft that he and his father had just pulled ashore. Spying the elder in the tree-shrouded gloom, he yelled down to him. “Hurry, Pa! The Thorntons are wounded!”

  Flannery Morgan was far more nimble and quick-footed than one might have thought. In less than a moment he was on the deck, helping his son with William Thornton. Flannery was against pulling out the pike without a doctor present, but to relieve the pain of its weight upon the wound, he sawed off the shaft as Gillian held it firm, leaving just enough to be firmly grasped. Between the two of them, they carried the elder Thornton to the cabin loft and then returned for their captain.

  Gage had fallen into a deep, traumatized sleep in his wife’s arms. He could not be roused, deepening Shemaine’s fear, and she hurried along beside the two shipwrights as they bore her husband to the front bedroom. She asked their assistance in removing Gage’s boots and the shirt which had gotten bloodied from the open wound in his scalp. Promptly she set to work cleaning the injury, and then she ran upstairs to see how she might help William. Her anxiety for both men brought tears to her eyes as she worked to cut away the nightshirt from the elder, who, even in his agony, tried to lend her assistance.

  “Rest yourself if you can, my lord,” she urged, sniffing and wiping at the blinding tears with the sleeve of her robe.

  “How’s Gage?” William rasped through his pain.

  “I don’t know,” she answered in a choked voice. “He’s unconscious.”

  “He must live!”

  Shemaine’s face threatened to crumple with pent-up emotion, but she promptly sucked in a breath, willing herself not to break down. “You both must live!”

  Upon Erich Wernher’s arrival for work several moments earlier, he had been sent out on the back of Sooner to fetch Dr. Ferris. He was the best rider they had, and it was up to him to bring the physician back posthaste. When the doctor came racing up on the back of his own capable steed about an hour later, he was whisked directly upstairs, where he examined the elder Thornton, who lay fully awake on his side. Colby Ferris immediately sent Gillian down to search the kitchen for a strong brew to fortify his lordship against the discomfort he was presently suffering, as well as the agony which would be forthcoming once the extraction of the lance commenced. Thus far the elder Thornton had remained alert to everything happening around him, but Colby was of the belief that his lordship would be better off unconscious. In a few short moments Gillian returned with a jug of brew that his own father normally kept aboard the ship for his customary tipple before heading home each evening.

  “Watch over his lordship until I can see bow his son is doing downstairs,” Colby instructed the young man. “Encourage him to drink as much as he can . . . even if you have to sip along with him. Just be sure there’s enough left to flush the wound before and after.”

  Gillian scanned the long form of the Englishman as he lay on his side facing the wall. With part of the pike still imbedded in his lordship’s back, he could only imagine the agony the elder had to be suffering and would have to endure if he tried to push himself upright. “But how will his lordship drink it dow. . . .”

  William looked around with a painful grimace and beckoned to be given the jug. Then, with Colby’s and Gillian’s help, he braced himself up on an elbow as they stuffed pillows beneath him. Satisfied that his patient was willing, the doctor left the Irishman the unusual task of getting an English lord thoroughly intoxicated.

  Leaving them, Colby went downstairs to examine the injury on Gage’s head. By now the rent had stopped bleeding, but there was a large knot on the skull beneath it. At the moment Colby couldn’t make a firm evaluation of his patient’s condition. “Your husband may come out of it just fine . . .” he told Shemaine. “And then again, he may not. Just keep a cool, wet compress on the wound and watch him closely. I’ll have to stitch his scalp together once I finish tending his father. Your husband has obviously suffered a concussion and, for a time, may drift in and out of a stupor. It all depends on how much pressure is building beneath the skull.”

  Shemaine felt her legs begin to give way beneath her as a debilitating coldness swept through her, but she gritted her teeth in sudden determination and refused to yield to the pervading fear. This was her husband, and he needed her! She could not allow herself to faint!

  All the commotion in the house had served to awaken Andrew, and Shemaine took a few moments to feed and dress the boy before she washed and garbed herself. Then the two of them carried the rocking chair from his small bedroom into the larger one, where they could look after Gage. Cuddling Andrew against her, Shemaine rocked and sang to him, and together they waited and prayed that all would be well with the husband and father they both loved. After a time, Andrew slipped from her lap and crawled up onto the bed to snuggle against his parent. Shemaine followed and, wrapping her arm around the boy, rested a hand against her husband’s chest and took comfort in his strong, sturdy heartbeat.

  When Colby Ferris went to the loft to see how Gillian was faring with William, he found his lordship clearheaded and fully conscious. Gillian, however, had begun to slur his words, not having acquired much stamina against the brew. Deeming the young shipwright in need of some fresh air and himself in want of two strong men to hold down his lordship, Colby sent him to fetch Ramsey Tate and Sly Tucker, who were helping Flannery load the dead men in a wagon for their final trip to Newportes Newes.

  Except for cleansing the wound, the whiskey was not as beneficial as Colby had hoped, for his lordship remained fully cognizant during the whole painful process of removing the pike from his back. No major organs had been damaged, but the puncture was deep nevertheless. Cleaning the open wound with the fiery liquid would have undone a lesser man, but William, who was forced to remain on his stomach throughout the ordeal, clenched his teeth and buried his face in the pillows to still any sound. The tremors that shook his tensed body were vivid proof of the effort he made not to cry out. It was only at the very last, when the large gap in his shoulder was being sewn up, that his lordship finally yielded up his consciousness, leaving the doctor astounded at the older man’s fortitude and obstinate will.

  When Colby went downstairs again, he found Andrew and Shemaine curled up close together on the bed beside Gage. They were both sleeping, but Gage had awakened and was scrutinizing his wife and son as if they were rare treasures.

  “How do you feel?” Colby asked softly after stitching the gash.

  “Like I’ve been hit in the head with the fat end of a mallet.”

  “You can be glad you’re alive.”

  A frown gathered Gage’s brow, but he soon repented of any facial expressions. “Was I hit that hard?”

  “Not that I know of.” Colby swept a hand briefly toward Shemaine. “According to your father, your wife shot and killed the man who was trying to kill you.” He paused to let that fact sink in and saw a look of wonder pass over the other man’s face. “And according to Shemaine, your father deliberately threw himself in front of you to take the lance that was meant for you.”

  Startled, Gage looked at the physician. Fearing the worst, it was a long moment before he could trust himself to speak. “Is he dead?”

  “No, his lordship should mend fairly well unless the wound becomes tainted, but Flannery’s jug of whiskey should have cauterized it completely. I’ve never tasted anything stronger in my
life, but it seemed to have little effect on his lordship. Frankly, I’m amazed by his stamina and tolerance for pain. He never once fainted or cried out despite the agony we put him through. Your father and wife must love you very much, Mr. Thornton.”

  Swept with a feeling of wonderment as he considered the doctor’s statement, Gage was only vaguely aware of his own reply, which had become almost second nature to him whenever he was addressed by his proper name. “My name is Gage.”

  “Rest as much as you can, Gage,” Colby instructed. “You’ll be better off if you do and will be back on your feet much faster for it.”

  Gage recalled the last time he had seen the doctor. “How is Calley doing anyway? Ramsey keeps telling me she’s much better, but I still worry about her. She should be nearing her time pretty soon, shouldn’t she?”

  “Calley is doing remarkably well, and yes, she should be delivering any day now. Annie is keeping a close eye on her and is just as anxious as the mother for the baby to be born.”

  “Ramsey wants to keep Annie on for his wife’s sake,” Gage informed him, “but Calley says they can’t afford her. She wants at least one of their five sons to go to William and Mary and is saving every farthing she can to make sure that will happen. If left to her, all of them will be tutored there.”

  Dr. Ferris scrubbed a booted toe across the cypress floor. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about buying Annie from you. . . .”

  Surprised, Gage looked at the man. “I thought you said—”

  “Never mind what I said. Annie would be an excellent assistant, and lately I’ve been thinking I’d like to marry again. I’m still young enough to have children. My wife couldn’t have any, and she died childless. A child of her own is what Annie wants, and I think I’m able to give her that. She may not love me now, but perhaps in the future. . . .”

  “Have you asked her yet?”

  “No, I couldn’t, not with you owning her. Myers has been complaining to me about how you said you were going to bring her back but never have. He thinks you should give him more money for tricking him.”