Read Online Just Imagine by Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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Katharine Louise in during her formative years. But it's too late for that. My goodness, she's eighteen now."
"Hardly a Methuselah," Cain said dryly.
"Standards of behavior are different in South Carolina than they are in the North." Her rebuke was softly spoken. "Girls of good family are raised from birth in the gracious traditions of Southern womanhood. Not only has Katharine Louise never shown any inclination to conform to these traditions, but she mocks them. The families of our community would be concerned about the influence Katharine would have on their own daughters."
Cain felt a spark of pity for Kit. It couldn't have been easy growing up with a stepmother who hated her, a father who ignored her, and a community that disapproved of her. "Isn't there anyone in this town who feels affection for her?"
Mary's small hands fluttered in her lap. "Gracious, Mr. Cain, you misunderstand. We're all deeply fond of her. Katharine Louise is a generous and warmhearted person. Her hunting skills have put food in the mouths of our poorest families, and she never fails to cheer us up. But that doesn't alter the fact that she conducts herself outside even the most liberally defined boundaries of acceptable behavior."
Cain had played too much poker not to know when he was beaten. Willard Ritter had given him letters of introduction to four families in Rutherford, and he'd been rejected by all of them. He finished his cursed jelly sandwich and took his leave.
As he rode back to Risen Glory on the bony mare he'd hired at a livery stable in Charleston, he faced the unpleasant truth. Like it or not, he was stuck with Kit.
The plantation house came into view. It was a handsome, two-story structure of stucco-covered brick that sat at the end of a twisting overgrown drive. Despite the general air of neglect from peeling paint and broken shutters, the place was sturdy. The house had weathered to a warm shade of cream with bricks and mortar visible beneath the stucco. Live oaks heavy with Spanish moss shaded each end and draped the tiled roof. Azaleas, smilax, and holly spilled from overgrown beds, while magnolias scattered their waxy leaves across the knee-high grass of the front yard.
But it wasn't the house that had caught Cain's interest when he'd arrived two days ago. Instead, he'd spent the afternoon inspecting the ruins of the burned outbuildings, crawling over broken machinery, setting aside rusted tools, and occasionally stopping in an empty field to pick up a handful of rich soil. It trickled through his fingers like warm silk. Once again he found himself thinking about New York City and how it had begun to suffocate him.
Cain turned his horse over to Eli, the bent old man and former slave who'd met him with a shotgun the day Cain had arrived at Risen Glory.
"That's far enough," he'd said. "Miz Kit told me to shoot anybody steps foot on Risen Glory."
"Miss Kit needs to have her britches tanned," Cain had replied, not adding that he'd already done the job.
"You sure enough right 'bout that. But I still have to shoot you if you come any closer."
Cain could have disarmed the old man without difficulty, but he'd wanted his cooperation, so he'd taken the time to explain his relationship to Kit and Rosemary Weston. When Eli understood that Cain wasn't one of the fancy scalawags who'd been preying on the countryside, he'd put down his shotgun and welcomed him to Risen Glory.
The middle of the house curved in a graceful bow. Cain stepped into the wide center hallway that had been designed to carry a breeze. Parlors, a music room, and a library opened off it, everything shabby and dust-shrouded. The handsome teak table in the dining room bore fresh gouges. Sherman's troops had carted it outside and used it to butcher the plantation's remaining livestock.
Cain caught the scent of fried chicken. Eli couldn't cook, and as far as he knew, there was no one else in the house. The former slaves, enticed by the promise of forty acres and
"Hardly a Methuselah," Cain said dryly.
"Standards of behavior are different in South Carolina than they are in the North." Her rebuke was softly spoken. "Girls of good family are raised from birth in the gracious traditions of Southern womanhood. Not only has Katharine Louise never shown any inclination to conform to these traditions, but she mocks them. The families of our community would be concerned about the influence Katharine would have on their own daughters."
Cain felt a spark of pity for Kit. It couldn't have been easy growing up with a stepmother who hated her, a father who ignored her, and a community that disapproved of her. "Isn't there anyone in this town who feels affection for her?"
Mary's small hands fluttered in her lap. "Gracious, Mr. Cain, you misunderstand. We're all deeply fond of her. Katharine Louise is a generous and warmhearted person. Her hunting skills have put food in the mouths of our poorest families, and she never fails to cheer us up. But that doesn't alter the fact that she conducts herself outside even the most liberally defined boundaries of acceptable behavior."
Cain had played too much poker not to know when he was beaten. Willard Ritter had given him letters of introduction to four families in Rutherford, and he'd been rejected by all of them. He finished his cursed jelly sandwich and took his leave.
As he rode back to Risen Glory on the bony mare he'd hired at a livery stable in Charleston, he faced the unpleasant truth. Like it or not, he was stuck with Kit.
The plantation house came into view. It was a handsome, two-story structure of stucco-covered brick that sat at the end of a twisting overgrown drive. Despite the general air of neglect from peeling paint and broken shutters, the place was sturdy. The house had weathered to a warm shade of cream with bricks and mortar visible beneath the stucco. Live oaks heavy with Spanish moss shaded each end and draped the tiled roof. Azaleas, smilax, and holly spilled from overgrown beds, while magnolias scattered their waxy leaves across the knee-high grass of the front yard.
But it wasn't the house that had caught Cain's interest when he'd arrived two days ago. Instead, he'd spent the afternoon inspecting the ruins of the burned outbuildings, crawling over broken machinery, setting aside rusted tools, and occasionally stopping in an empty field to pick up a handful of rich soil. It trickled through his fingers like warm silk. Once again he found himself thinking about New York City and how it had begun to suffocate him.
Cain turned his horse over to Eli, the bent old man and former slave who'd met him with a shotgun the day Cain had arrived at Risen Glory.
"That's far enough," he'd said. "Miz Kit told me to shoot anybody steps foot on Risen Glory."
"Miss Kit needs to have her britches tanned," Cain had replied, not adding that he'd already done the job.
"You sure enough right 'bout that. But I still have to shoot you if you come any closer."
Cain could have disarmed the old man without difficulty, but he'd wanted his cooperation, so he'd taken the time to explain his relationship to Kit and Rosemary Weston. When Eli understood that Cain wasn't one of the fancy scalawags who'd been preying on the countryside, he'd put down his shotgun and welcomed him to Risen Glory.
The middle of the house curved in a graceful bow. Cain stepped into the wide center hallway that had been designed to carry a breeze. Parlors, a music room, and a library opened off it, everything shabby and dust-shrouded. The handsome teak table in the dining room bore fresh gouges. Sherman's troops had carted it outside and used it to butcher the plantation's remaining livestock.
Cain caught the scent of fried chicken. Eli couldn't cook, and as far as he knew, there was no one else in the house. The former slaves, enticed by the promise of forty acres and
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