Read Online Just Imagine by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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Magnus to lock you in your room and throw away the key. I mean it, Kit. When I get back I'd better hear that you behaved yourself. I intend to turn you over to your new guardian clean and respectably dressed."
The emotions that played over her face ranged from indignation to anger, then settled into something that looked uncomfortably like despair. Water from the dripping ends of her hair splashed like tears onto her thin shoulders, and her voice was no longer its normal bellow. "Are you really gonna do it?"
"Of course I'll find another guardian for you. You should be happy about that."
Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the towel. "That's not what I mean. Are you really goin' to sell Risen Glory?"
Cain hardened himself against the suffering in that small face. He had no intention of being burdened with a run-down cotton plantation, but she wouldn't understand that. "I'm not keeping the money, Kit. It'll go into your trust fund."
"I don't care about that money! You can't sell Risen Glory."
"I have to. Someday maybe you'll understand."
Kit's eyes darkened into killing pools. "The biggest mistake I made was not blowin' your head off."
Her small, towel-draped figure was strangely dignified as she walked away from him and shut her bedroom door.
----
4
"Do you mean to tell me there isn't anyone in this entire community who'd be willing to take over the guardianship of Miss Weston? Not even if I pay her expenses?" Cain studied the Reverend Rawlins Ames Cogdell of Rutherford, South Carolina, who studied him in return.
"You must understand, Mr. Cain. We've all known Katharine Louise a good deal longer than you have."
Rawlins Cogdell prayed that God would forgive him for the satisfaction he was taking in putting a spoke in this Yankee's wheel. The Hero of Missionary Ridge, indeed! How galling it was to be forced to entertain such a man. But what else was he to do? These days blue-uniformed occupation troops were everywhere, and even a man of God had to be careful not to offend.
His wife, Mary, appeared in the doorway with a plate holding four tiny finger sandwiches, each one spread with a thin glaze of strawberry preserves. "Am I interrupting?"
"No, no. Come in, my dear. Mr. Cain, you do have a treat in store for you. My wife is famous for her strawberry preserves."
The preserves were from the bottom of the last jar his wife had put up two springs ago when there was still sugar, and the bread was sliced from a loaf that had to last them the rest of the week. Still, Rawlins was pleased she was offering it. He would sooner starve than let this man know how poor they all were.
"None for me, my dear. I'll save my appetite for dinner. Please, Mr. Cain, take two."
Cain wasn't nearly as obtuse as Cogdell believed. He knew what a sacrifice the offering on the chipped blue willowware plate was. He took a sandwich even though there was nothing he wanted less and made the required compliments. Damn all Southerners. Six hundred thousand lives had been lost because of their stiff-necked pride.
Cain believed their arrogance was a product of the disease of the slave system. The planters had lived like omnipotent kings on isolated plantations, where they held absolute authority over hundreds of slaves. It had given them a terrible conceit. They'd believed they were all-powerful, and defeat had changed them only superficially. A Southern family might be starving, but tea sandwiches would still be offered to a guest, even a despised one.
The Reverend Cogdell turned to his wife. "Please sit down, my dear. Perhaps you can help us. Mr. Cain finds himself on the horns of a dilemma."
She did as her husband requested and listened as he outlined Cain's connection with Rosemary Weston and the fact that he wanted to transfer his guardianship of Kit. When her husband was finished, she shook her head.
"I'm afraid what you want is impossible, Mr. Cain. There are a number of families who would have been only too happy to take
The emotions that played over her face ranged from indignation to anger, then settled into something that looked uncomfortably like despair. Water from the dripping ends of her hair splashed like tears onto her thin shoulders, and her voice was no longer its normal bellow. "Are you really gonna do it?"
"Of course I'll find another guardian for you. You should be happy about that."
Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the towel. "That's not what I mean. Are you really goin' to sell Risen Glory?"
Cain hardened himself against the suffering in that small face. He had no intention of being burdened with a run-down cotton plantation, but she wouldn't understand that. "I'm not keeping the money, Kit. It'll go into your trust fund."
"I don't care about that money! You can't sell Risen Glory."
"I have to. Someday maybe you'll understand."
Kit's eyes darkened into killing pools. "The biggest mistake I made was not blowin' your head off."
Her small, towel-draped figure was strangely dignified as she walked away from him and shut her bedroom door.
----
4
"Do you mean to tell me there isn't anyone in this entire community who'd be willing to take over the guardianship of Miss Weston? Not even if I pay her expenses?" Cain studied the Reverend Rawlins Ames Cogdell of Rutherford, South Carolina, who studied him in return.
"You must understand, Mr. Cain. We've all known Katharine Louise a good deal longer than you have."
Rawlins Cogdell prayed that God would forgive him for the satisfaction he was taking in putting a spoke in this Yankee's wheel. The Hero of Missionary Ridge, indeed! How galling it was to be forced to entertain such a man. But what else was he to do? These days blue-uniformed occupation troops were everywhere, and even a man of God had to be careful not to offend.
His wife, Mary, appeared in the doorway with a plate holding four tiny finger sandwiches, each one spread with a thin glaze of strawberry preserves. "Am I interrupting?"
"No, no. Come in, my dear. Mr. Cain, you do have a treat in store for you. My wife is famous for her strawberry preserves."
The preserves were from the bottom of the last jar his wife had put up two springs ago when there was still sugar, and the bread was sliced from a loaf that had to last them the rest of the week. Still, Rawlins was pleased she was offering it. He would sooner starve than let this man know how poor they all were.
"None for me, my dear. I'll save my appetite for dinner. Please, Mr. Cain, take two."
Cain wasn't nearly as obtuse as Cogdell believed. He knew what a sacrifice the offering on the chipped blue willowware plate was. He took a sandwich even though there was nothing he wanted less and made the required compliments. Damn all Southerners. Six hundred thousand lives had been lost because of their stiff-necked pride.
Cain believed their arrogance was a product of the disease of the slave system. The planters had lived like omnipotent kings on isolated plantations, where they held absolute authority over hundreds of slaves. It had given them a terrible conceit. They'd believed they were all-powerful, and defeat had changed them only superficially. A Southern family might be starving, but tea sandwiches would still be offered to a guest, even a despised one.
The Reverend Cogdell turned to his wife. "Please sit down, my dear. Perhaps you can help us. Mr. Cain finds himself on the horns of a dilemma."
She did as her husband requested and listened as he outlined Cain's connection with Rosemary Weston and the fact that he wanted to transfer his guardianship of Kit. When her husband was finished, she shook her head.
"I'm afraid what you want is impossible, Mr. Cain. There are a number of families who would have been only too happy to take
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