All but a few of the old slave cabins had been destroyed. That was the part of Risen Glory she didn't let herself think about, and she was glad to see them gone. The cabins that were left had been painted and repaired. Each had its own garden, and flowers grew near the front doors. She waved at the children playing in the shade of the same buckthorns where she'd once played.
When she came to the edge of the first planted field, she dismounted and walked over to inspect it. The young cotton plants were covered with tight buds. A lizard slithered in the dirt near her boots, and she smiled. Lizards and toads, along with martins and mockingbirds, preyed on the bollworms that could be so destructive to the cotton plants. It was too early to tell, but it looked as if Cain had the beginnings of a good crop. She felt a mixture of pride and anger. This should be her crop, not his.
As she stood looking out across the land she knew so well, she felt a flutter of panic. It was far more prosperous than she'd imagined. What if she didn't have enough money in her trust fund to buy the plantation back? Somehow she had to get access to the plantation's books. She refused to consider the awful possibility that he might not be willing to sell.
She strode over to Lady, who was nibbling away at a patch of new clover, and snatched up the bridle she hadn't bothered to secure. She used a stump to climb back into the saddle, then headed toward the pond, where she'd spent so many happy summer hours swimming. It was just as she remembered, with its clean spring-fed water and willow-lined bank. She promised herself a swim as soon as she was certain she wouldn't be disturbed.
She rode on to the tiny cemetery where her mother and her grandparents were buried and paused outside the iron fence. Only her father's body was missing, buried in a mass grave in Hardin County Tennessee, not far from Shiloh Church. Rosemary Weston lay alone by the far corner of the fence.
Kit grimly set out toward the southeast corner of the property and the new spinning mill she'd heard about from Brandon Parsell. Just before she cleared the last stand of trees, she saw a big chestnut tied off to the side and decided it must be Vandal, the horse Samuel had told her about while he was saddling Lady. The gelding was a fine animal, but she missed Apollo. She remembered what Magnus had told her about Cain.
The major doesn't let himself get too attached to things-horses, the towns where he lives, even his books.
She rounded the trees and caught her first sight of the new spinning mill. The South had always shipped most of its bulk cotton to England for processing and weaving. In the years since the war, a handful of men had built a few scattered mills that took the ginned cotton and spun it into thread. As a result, compact cotton spools could be shipped to England for weaving instead of the bulky cotton bales, yielding a thousand times the value for the same tonnage. It was an idea whose time had come. Kit just wished it hadn't come on Risen Glory's land.
Last night, Kit had questioned Sophronia about Cain's mill and learned there wouldn't be any power looms for weaving. This would be a spinning mill only. It would take the ginned cotton, clean it, card it to straighten the fibers, then pull and twist them into yarn.
Now she saw an oblong brick building, two and a half stories tall, with many windows. The building was smaller than the pictures she'd seen of the big New England textile mills along the Merrimack River, but huge and threatening on Risen Glory's land. It would make everything so much more complicated.
The mill was alive with hammering and the voices of the workers. Three men worked on the roof, while another climbed the ladder leaning against the side of the building with a stack of shingles on his back.
They'd all shed their shirts. As one of them straightened, a wave of muscles rippled on his back. Even though he was turned away, she recognized him. She rode closer to the building and dismounted.
A burly man pushing a wheelbarrow saw her and nudged the man next to him. Both of them stopped what they were doing to stare at her. Gradually the construction site fell silent as, one by one, the men stepped out of the building or peered through open windows to see the young woman dressed in boy's clothing.
Cain grew conscious of the silence and looked down from his perch on the roof. At first he saw only the top of a flat-brimmed hat, but he didn't need to see the face beneath it to recognize his visitor. One look at the slim, womanly body so clearly revealed by that white shirt and those khaki britches that hugged a pair of long, slim legs told him everything he needed to know.
He swung his foot onto the ladder and descended. When he reached the bottom he turned to Kit and studied her. God, she was beautiful.
Kit felt her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She should have worn the modest riding habit she hated. Instead of reprimanding her as she'd expected, Cain seemed to be enjoying her outfit. The corner of his mouth crinkled.
"You might be wearing britches, but you sure don't look like my stable boy anymore."
His good mood irked her. "Stop it."
"What?"
"Smiling."
"I'm not supposed to smile?"
"Not at me. It looks ridiculous. Don't smile at anyone. Your face was born to scowl."
"I'll try to remember that." He took her arm and nudged her toward the mill door. "Come on. I'll show you around."
Although the construction of the building was nearly completed, the steam engine that would power the machinery was the only equipment that had been installed. Cain described the overhead belt drive and spindles, but she had a hard time concentrating. He should have put his shirt on before he'd decided to act as her tour guide.
She met a middle-aged man with ginger hair and whiskers whom Cain introduced as Jacob Childs, a New Englander he'd hired away from a mill in Providence. For the first time, she learned that Cain had made several trips North during the past few years to visit the textile mills there. It galled her that he'd never once stopped at the Academy to check on her, and she told him so.
"I didn't think of it," he replied.
"You're a terrible excuse for a guardian."
"I won't argue with you there."
"Mrs. Templeton could have been beating me, for all you knew."
"Not likely. You'd have shot her. I wasn't worried."
She saw his pride in the mill, but as they moved back into the yard, she couldn't find it in her to compliment him. "I'd like to talk to you about Temptation."
Cain appeared distracted. She glanced down to see what he was looking at and realized her curves were more apparent in the sunlight than they'd been in the dim interior of the building. She moved into the shade and pointed an accusing finger at Lady, who was decapitating a patch of buttercups.
"That horse is nearly as old as Miss Dolly. I want to ride Temptation."
Cain seemed to have to force his attention back to her face. "He's too much horse for a woman. I know Lady's old, but you'll have to make do."
"I've been riding horses like Temptation since I was eight years old."
"Sorry, Kit, but that horse is a handful, even for me."
"But we're not talking about you," she said smoothly. "We're talking about someone who knows how to ride."
Cain seemed more amused than angry. "You think so?"
"What do you say we see? You on Vandal and me on Temptation. We'll start at the gate next to the barn, race past the pond to the maple grove, and finish right here."
"You're not going to bait me."
"Oh, I'm not baiting you." She gave him a silky smile. "I'm challenging you."
"You do like to live dangerously, don't you, Katharine Louise?"
"It's the only way."
"All right. Let's see what you've got."
He was going to race her. She gave a silent cheer as he grabbed his shirt from a sawhorse. While he buttoned it, he issued orders to the men who'd been standing around staring at her. Then he picked up a worn Western hat with a stained sweatband that testified to years of comfortable wear and set it on his head.
"I'll meet you at the stable." He rode from the clearing without botherin
g to wait for her.
Lady was eager for the oats that awaited her, and she made the homeward journey a little faster, but they still arrived well after Cain. Temptation was already saddled when Kit got there, and Cain was checking the cinch strap. Kit dismounted and handed Lady's bridle to Samuel. Then she walked over to Temptation and ran a hand down his muzzle.
"Ready?" Cain said shortly.
"I'm ready."
He gave her a leg up, and she swung into the saddle. When Temptation felt her weight, he began to prance and sidestep, and it took all her skill to keep him under control. By the time the horse had finally settled down, Cain had mounted Vandal.
As she rode from the yard, Kit was intoxicated by the sensation of leashed power in the animal beneath her, and she could barely resist giving him his head. She reluctantly reined in when she reached the gate near the barn.
"The first one who makes it back to the mill wins," she said to Cain.
He tipped up the brim of his hat with his thumb. "I'm not racing you."
"What do you mean?" Kit needed to race him. She wanted to compete with him at something where his size and strength wouldn't give him an advantage. On horseback, the differences between a man and a woman would disappear.
"Exactly what I said."
"Is the Hero of Missionary Ridge afraid to get beat by a woman in front of his men?"
Cain squinted slightly in the blaze of the late-morning sun. "I don't have anything to prove, and you're not going to bait me."
"Why did you come here if you weren't going to race?"
"You were doing a little bragging back there. I wanted to see if any of it was true."
She rested her hand across the pommel and smiled. "I wasn't bragging. I was stating facts."
"Talk's cheap, Katharine Louise. Let's see what you can do with a horse."
Before she could respond, he set off. She watched as he let Vandal break from an easy trot into a canter.
He rode well for a large man, so relaxed and easy he seemed to be an extension of his horse. She realized he was every bit as good a rider as she. Another black mark to chalk up against him.
She leaned over Temptation's sleek black neck. "All right, boy. Let's show him."
Temptation proved to be everything she'd hoped. At first she kept him abreast of Vandal and held him to a canter, but then, when she sensed the horse straining to go faster, she let him have his head. Veering away from the planted fields, she turned him into an open meadow. They tore across it at a fierce gallop, and as she felt the raw strength of the animal beneath her, everything else disappeared. There was no yesterday or tomorrow, no ruthless man with cold gray eyes, no kiss she couldn't explain. There was only the magnificent animal that had become part of her.
She spotted a low hedge ahead. With the barest pressure of her knees, she turned the horse toward it. As they thundered closer, she leaned forward in the saddle, keeping her knees tight to his flanks. She felt a great surge of power as Temptation effortlessly cleared the barrier.
Reluctantly she slowed him to a trot and turned back. She'd done enough for now. If she pushed the horse harder, Cain would accuse her of being reckless, and she wasn't going to give him an excuse to keep this horse from her.
He waited for her at the top of the meadow. She reined in beside him and wiped the perspiration from her cheeks with her sleeve.
His saddle creaked slightly as he moved. "That was quite an exhibition."
She kept silent, waiting for his verdict.
"Did you ride at all when you were in New York?" he asked.
"I wouldn't call it riding."
With a tug on the reins, he turned Vandal toward the stable. "Then you're going to be sore as hell tomorrow."
Was that all he was going to say? She watched his retreating back, then tapped her heels against Temptation's flanks and caught up with him. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Are you going to let me ride this horse or not?"
"I don't see why not. As long as you don't put a sidesaddle on him, you can ride him."
She smiled and resisted the urge to turn Temptation back toward the meadow for another gallop.
She reached the yard before Cain and dismounted while Samuel held the bridle. "You'd better take your time cooling him out," she told the youngster. "And put a blanket on him. I rode him hard."
Cain drew up in time to hear her orders. "Samuels nearly as good a stable boy as you were, Kit." He smiled and dismounted. "But he doesn't look half as fine in britches."
For two and a half years, Sophronia had been punishing Magnus Owen for standing between herself and Baron Cain. Now the door of the rear sitting room she used as an office swung open.
"I heard you wanted to see me," he said. "Is somethin' wrong?"
The time he'd served as Risen Glory's overseer bad wrought subtle changes in him. The muscles beneath his soft butternut shirt and dark brown trousers had grown sleek and hard, and there was a taut wiriness about him that had been lacking before. His face was still smooth and handsome, but now, as happened whenever he was in Sophronia's presence, subtle lines of tension etched his features.
"Nothing's wrong, Magnus," Sophronia replied, her manner deliberately condescending. "I understand you're goin' into town later this afternoon, and I wanted you to pick up some supplies for me." She didn't rise from the desk as she extended the list. Instead, she made him come to her.
"You called me in from the fields just so I could be your errand boy?" He snatched the list from her hand. "Why didn't you send Jim for this?"
"I didn't think about it," she replied, perversely glad that she had been able to ruffle his even temper. "Besides, Jim's busy washin' windows for me."
Magnus's jaw tightened. "And I suppose washin' windows is more important than takin' care of the cotton that's supportin' this plantation?"
"My, my. You do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you, Magnus Owen?" She rose from her chair. "You think this plantation's goin' to fall apart just because the overseer had to come in from the fields for a few minutes?"
A tiny vein began to throb at the side of his forehead. He lifted a work-roughened hand and splayed it on his hip. "You got some airs about you, woman, that are gettin' mighty unpleasant. Somebody needs to take you down a peg or two before you get yourself in real trouble."
"Well, that somebody sure enough won't be you." She held her chin high and swept past him into the hallway.
Magnus was generally so even-tempered it was hard to get a rise out of him, but now his hand whipped out and caught her arm. She gave a small gasp as he pulled her back into the sitting room and slammed the door.
"That's right," he drawled in the sweet, liquid tones of his plantation childhood. "I keep forgettin' Miz Sophronia's too good for the rest of us po' black folk."
Her golden eyes sparked with anger at his mockery. He pressed her body against the door with his own.
"Let me go!" She shoved at his chest, but even though they were the same height, he was much stronger, and she might as well have been trying to move an oak tree with a puff of thistledown.
"Magnus, let me go!"
Maybe he didn't hear the edge of panic in her plea, or maybe he'd been goaded by her once too often. Instead of releasing her, he pinned her shoulders to the door. The heat of his body burned through her skirt. "Miz Sophronia thinks just 'cause she acts like she's white, she's goin' to wake up some mornin' and find out she is white. Then she won't ever have to talk to none of us black folk again, except maybe to give us orders."
She turned her head and pressed her eyes closed, trying to shut out his scorn, but Magnus wasn't finished with her. His voice grew softer, but his words were no less wounding.
"If Miz Sophronia was only white, then she wouldn't ever have to worry none about a black man wantin' to take her in his arms and make her his woman and have chil'ren by her. She wouldn't have to worry about a black man wantin' to sit by her and hold her when she felt lonesome, or about growin' old lyin'
in a big old feather bed. No, Miz Sophronia wouldn't have to worry about none of that. She's too fine for all that. She's too white for all that!"
"Stop it!" Sophronia lifted her hands and held them over her ears to shut out his cruel words.
He stepped back to free her, but she couldn't move. She stood frozen, her spine rigid, her hands clamped to her ears. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
With a muffled groan, Magnus took her stiff body in his arms and began stroking her and crooning into her ear. "There, now, girl. It's all right. I'm sorry I made you cry. Last thing I want is to hurt you. There, now, everything's goin' to be all right."
Gradually the tension ebbed from her body, and for a moment she sagged against him. He was so solid. So safe.
Safe? The thought made her jerk away. She drew back her shoulders and stood proud and naughty, despite the tears she couldn't quite stop shedding. "You got no right to talk to me like that. You don't know me, Magnus Owen. You just think you do."
But Magnus had his own pride "I know you've got nothing but smiles for any rich white man looks your way, but you won't spare a glance for a black man."
"What can a black man give me?" she said fiercely. "Black man's got no power. My mother, my grandmother, her mother before her-black men loved them all. But when the white man came skulkin' through the cabin door in the middle of the night, not one of those black men could keep him from havin' her. Not one of those black men could keep his children from being sold away. Not one of them could do more than stand by and watch the women they loved being tied naked to a post and whipped until their backs ran red with blood. Don't you talk to me about black men!"
Magnus took a step toward her, but when she turned away, he walked to the window instead. "Times are different now," he said gently. "The war's over. You're not a slave any longer. We're all free. Things have changed. We can vote."
"You're a fool, Magnus. You think just because the white man says you can vote, things are goin' to be any different? It doesn't mean nothin'."
Just Imagine aka Risen Glory Page 13
