Page 45 of Just Imagine
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.”
