Magnus came toward her and touched her shoulder. She recoiled instinctively, even though his touch felt strangely comforting.
"And if he had?" Magnus asked. "Would you've been able to hide that shiver that comes over you every time a man so much as touches your arm? Even though he's rich and white, would you've been able to forget that he's also a man?"
He'd struck too close to her nightmares. She turned away and headed blindly toward the desk. When she was finally sure she could speak without her voice betraying her, she said coldly, "I've got work to do. If you won't get the supplies for me, I'll send Jim to town."
At first she didn't think he'd answer, but he finally nodded. "I'll get your supplies." Then he turned on his heel and left her alone.
Sophronia stared at the vacant doorway, and for a moment she was filled with a nearly overpowering longing to fling herself after him. The instinct faded. Magnus Owen might be a plantation overseer, but he was still a black man, and he could never keep her safe.
10
Kit's muscles ached as she descended the stairs the next morning. In contrast to the britches she'd worn the day before, she was dressed in a demure outfit of palest lilac voile with a delicate white lace shawl tossed around her shoulders. From her fingers dangled the lavender sashes of a floppy leghorn hat.
Miss Dolly stood by the front door waiting for her. "Now, aren't you pretty as a picture. Just fasten up that button on your glove, darlin', and straighten your skirts."
Kit smiled and did as she was told. "You look awfully pretty yourself."
"Why, thank you, darlin'. I do try to keep myself nice, but it's not as easy as it once was. I no longer have youth entirely on my side, you know. But just look at you. Not a single gentleman will be able to keep his mind on the Lord with you sittin' in the congregation lookin' like a piece of Easter candy waitin' to be devoured."
"Makes me hungry just watching her," drawled a lazy voice from behind them.
Kit dropped the lavender hat ribbons she'd been trying to arrange into a bow.
Cain was leaning against the doorjamb of the library. He was dressed in a pearl-gray morning coat with charcoal trousers and waistcoat. A thinly striped burgundy cravat set off his white shirt.
Her eyes narrowed at his formal dress. "Where are you going?"
"To church, of course."
"Church! We didn't invite you to go to church with us!"
Miss Dolly's hand flew to her throat. "Katharine Louise Weston! I'm shocked! Whatever can you be thinking of, addressing the general so rudely? I asked him to escort us. You'll have to forgive her, General. She spent too long on horseback yesterday, and she could barely walk when she got out of bed this morning. It's made her peevish."
"I understand completely." The merriment in his eyes made his expression of sympathy suspect.
Kit plucked up the sashes of her hat. "I wasn't peevish." She was all thumbs with him watching, and she couldn't manage a respectable bow.
"Maybe you'd better tie that before she destroys the ribbons, Miss Calhoun."
"Certainly, General." Miss Dolly clucked her tongue at Kit. "Here, darlin'. Tilt up your chin and let me."
Kit was forced to submit to Miss Doily's ministrations while Cain watched in amusement. Finally the bow was arranged satisfactorily, and they made their way out the front door to the carriage.
Kit waited until Cain had helped Miss Doily in before she hissed at him. "I'll bet this is the first time you've set foot inside that church since you've been here. Why don't you stay home?"
"Not a chance. I wouldn't miss your reunion with the good people of Rutherford for anything in the world."
Our Father who art in heaven…
Jewel-like puddles of sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows and settled over the bowed heads of the congregation. In Rutherford, they still talked about what a miracle it was that those windows had escaped the spawn of Satan, William Tecumseh Sherman.
Kit felt uncomfortable sitting in her lilac finery amidst the faded dresses and prewar bonnets of the other women. She'd wanted to show herself off to good advantage, but she hadn't stopped to consider how poor everyone was. She wouldn't forget again.
She found herself thinking about her real church, the simple clapboard structure not far from Risen Glory that had served as the spiritual home for the slaves from the surrounding plantations. Garrett and Rosemary had refused to make the weekly trip to the white community's church in Rutherford, so Sophronia had taken Kit with her every Sunday. Even thought Sophronia was a child herself, she'd been determined that Kit hear the Word,
Kit had loved that church, and now she couldn't help but compare this sedate service with the joyful worship of her childhood. Sophronia would be there now, along with Magnus and the others.
Her reunion with Magnus had been subdued. Although he'd seemed happy to see her, the old informality between them was gone. She was now a white woman, fully grown, and he was a black man.
A fly buzzed a lazy figure eight in front of her, and she stole a glance at Cain. His attention was turned politely toward the pulpit, his expression as inscrutable as ever. She was glad that Miss Dolly was seated between them. Sitting any closer to him would have ruined the morning.
On the other side of the church sat a man whose attention wasn't as firmly fixed on the pulpit. Kit gave Brandon Parsell a slow smile, then tilted her head just enough so that her straw hat brim shielded her face. Before she left the church, she would make certain he found a chance to speak with her. She had only a month, and she couldn't waste a day of it.
The service ended, and the members of the congregation couldn't wait to speak with her. They'd heard the New York City finishing school had transformed her from a hoyden to a young lady, and they wanted to see for themselves.
"Why, Kit Weston, just look at you…"
"And aren't you a fine lady now."
"My stars, even your own daddy wouldn't recognize you."
As they greeted her, they faced a dilemma. Acknowledging her meant that they'd have to greet her Yankee guardian, the man Rutherford's leading families had been so diligently shunning.
Slowly, first one person and then another nodded to him. One of the men asked him about his cotton crop. Delia Dibbs thanked him for his contribution to the Bible Society. Clement Jakes asked whether or not he thought it would rain soon. The conversations were reserved, but the message was clear. It was time the barriers against Baron Cain came down.
Kit knew they'd later remark to each other that it was only for Kit Weston's sake they'd acknowledged him, but she suspected they welcomed the excuse to draw him into their insular circle, if only because it would give them a fresh topic of conversation. It would occur to none of them that Cain might not wish to be drawn in.
Standing off to the side of the church, a woman with an air of sophistication that set her apart watched what was happening with some amusement. So this was the notorious Baron Cain… The woman was a newcomer to the community, having lived in a large brick house in Rutherford for only three months, but she'd heard all about the new owner of Risen Glory. Nothing she'd heard, however, had prepared her for her first sight of him. Her eyes swept from his shoulders down to his narrow hips. He was magnificent.
Veronica Gamble was a Southerner by birth, if not by inclination. Born in Charleston, she had married the portrait painter Francis Gamble when she was barely eighteen. For the next fourteen years, they'd divided their time between Florence, Paris, and Vienna, where Francis had charged outrageous prices for flattering portraits of the wives and children of the aristocracy.
When her husband had died the previous winter, Veronica was left comfortably well off, if not wealthy. On a whim, she'd decided to return to South Carolina and the brick house that her husband had inherited from his parents. It would give her time to assess her life and decide what she wanted to do next.