Page 68 of Just Imagine
She found the slippers she’d kicked off hours earlier and stole from the room on bare feet. Noiselessly, she crept down the back hallways and staircases of the great house and out through the rear.
The night was clear, with just enough moonlight for her to see where she was going. She put on her slippers and made her way through the fringe of trees that surrounded the yard toward the outbuildings beyond the house.
The storage shed was dark inside. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the candle stub and matches she’d gathered from the kitchen. Once the candle was lit, she saw what she wanted and picked it up.
Even half full, the kerosene can was heavy. She couldn’t risk saddling a horse, so she’d have to carry it on foot for almost two miles. She wrapped a rag around the handle so it wouldn’t cut into her palm and let herself out of the shed.
The deep quiet of the Carolina night amplified the sound of the kerosene sloshing in the can as she walked along the dark road that led to the cotton mill. Tears slipped down her cheeks. He knew how she felt about Risen Glory. How he must hate her to banish her from her home.
She loved only three things in her life: Sophronia, Elsbeth, and Risen Glory. Her whole life had been marked by people trying to separate her from that home. What she planned to do was evil, but maybe so was she. Why else would so many people hate her so much? Cain. Her stepmother. Even her father hadn’t cared enough to defend her.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The kerosene sloshing in the can told her to turn back. Instead of listening, she clung to her despair. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A dream for a dream.
There wasn’t anything inside the cotton mill to steal, so the building wasn’t locked. She hauled the can to the second floor. With her petticoat, she gathered up the sawdust lying around and piled it at the base of a supporting post. The outer walls were brick, but a fire set here would destroy the roof and the interior walls.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress and saturated the area with kerosene. With a sob of agony, she stepped back and threw in a lighted match.
It ignited in a quick, noisy explosion. She stumbled backward toward the stairs. Great tongues of flame lashed at the wooden post. Here was the vengeance that would comfort her when she left Risen Glory.
But the destruction she’d wrought appalled her. This was ugly and hateful. It only proved that she could inflict pain as well as Cain.
She grabbed an empty burlap sack and began beating at the flames, but the fire was burning too fast. A shower of deadly sparks rained on her. Her lungs burned. She stumbled down the stairs, gulping for air. At the bottom, she fell.
Billows of smoke swept down after her. The hem of her muslin dress began to smolder. She smothered out the embers with her hands and crawled to the door.
The great bell at Risen Glory began to ring just as she felt the clean air on her face. She pushed herself up from the ground and stumbled into the trees.
The men had the fire out before it could destroy the mill, but it had damaged the second floor and much of the roof. In the predawn light, Cain stood wearily off to the side, his face streaked with soot, his clothing scorched and smoke-blackened. At his feet lay what was left of a kerosene can.
Magnus came up beside him and silently surveyed the damage. “We were lucky,” he finally said. “The rain we had yesterday kept it from spreading too fast.”
Cain stabbed at the can with the toe of his boot. “Another week and we’d have been installing the machinery. The fire would have gotten that, too.”
Magnus looked down at the can. “Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He looked up at the gaping roof. “I’m hardly the most popular man in town, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that someone decided to get back at me. But why did they wait so long?”
“Hard to say.”
“They couldn’t have found a better way to hurt me. I sure as hell don’t have the money to rebuild.”
“Why don’t you go back to the house and get some rest? Maybe things’ll look better in the morning.”
“In a minute. I want to take another look around first. You go ahead.”
Magnus squeezed his shoulder and headed for the house.
Twenty minutes later Cain spotted it. He bent down on one knee at the bottom of the burned staircase and picked it up in his fingers.
At first he didn’t recognize the piece of tarnished metal. The heat of the fire had melted the prongs together, and the delicate silverwork across the top had folded in on itself. But then, with a sudden wrenching in his gut, he knew it for what it was.
A silver filigree comb. One of a pair that he’d so often seen caught up in a wild tangle of black hair.
The twisting inside him turned to agony. The last time he’d seen her, both combs had been tucked into her hair.
He was crushed by a vise of raw emotion. He, of all men, should have known better than to let down the barriers he’d so carefully erected. As he stared at the misshapen piece of metal in his hand, something tender and fragile shattered inside him like a crystal teardrop. In its place was left cynicism, hatred, and self-loathing. What a weak, stupid fool he’d been.
