Page 78 of Just Imagine
Kit tried to think of what she could say, especially after what Sophronia had revealed about herself. But how could she speak of something she didn’t understand?
“No matter how terrible it was,” Sophronia said, “you can talk to me about it. I understand, honey. You can tell me.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“I do. I know what it’s like. I know how—”
“You don’t.” Kit turned. “This wasn’t ugly like what happened to you,” she said softly. “It wasn’t ugly or awful or anything like that.”
“You mean that he didn’t . . .”
Kit swallowed and nodded. “He did.”
Sophronia’s face turned ashen. “I—I guess I shouldn’t have . . .” She ran out of words. “I need to get back to the kitchen. Patsy wasn’t feelin’ good yesterday.” Her skirts made a soft whooshing sound as she left the room.
Kit stared after her, feeling sick and guilty. Finally she forced herself to finish dressing. She reached into her wardrobe and pulled out the first thing her fingers touched, a candy-striped dimity. She’d lost her silver comb, so she tied her curls back with a pumpkin-colored ribbon she found in her drawer. It clashed with her dress, but she didn’t notice.
Just as she reached the foyer, the front door opened and Cain walked in with Miss Dolly. Kit was immediately swept into a peppermint-scented embrace.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet precious! This is the happiest day of my life, ’deed it is. To think that you and the major cherish tender feelin’s for each other, and I didn’t suspect a thing.”
This was the first time she’d heard Miss Dolly voluntarily refer to Baron as “the major.” She studied her more closely, which gave her an excuse to avoid looking at Cain.
“I’ve already chastised the major for keeping me in the dark, and I should chastise you, too, but I’m too consumed by happiness.” The older woman clasped her hands to her ruffled bodice. “Just look at her, Major, in her pretty frock with a ribbon in her hair. Although you might want to find another color, Katharine Louise. That little pink satin you have, if it’s not too badly crushed. Now I must go talk to Patsy about a cake.” With a quick peck at Kit’s cheek, she headed for the kitchen. When the clatter of her tiny heels on the wooden floor had receded, Kit was finally forced to look at her husband.
She might have been staring at a stranger. His face was empty of expression, his eyes distant. The passion they’d shared last night might have been something she’d imagined.
She searched for some trace of tenderness, some acknowledgment of the importance of what had passed between them. When she didn’t find it, a chill went through her. She should have known this was how it would be with him. She’d been foolish to expect anything else. Still, she felt betrayed.
“Why is Miss Dolly calling you ‘Major’?” She asked this question instead of the others she couldn’t give voice to. “What did you say to her?”
He tossed his hat onto the hallway table. “I told her we were married. Then I pointed out that if she went on believing I was General Lee, she’d have to reconcile herself to the fact that you were living with a bigamist, since the general has been married for years.”
“How did she react?”
“She accepted it, especially after I reminded her that my own military record was nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Your military record? How could you frighten her like that?” Finally she had a target on which to pin at least a small portion of her pain. “If you bullied her—”
“She wasn’t frightened. She was quite pleased to hear how valiantly I was serving under General Beauregard.”
“Beauregard fought for the Confederacy.”
“Compromise, Kit. Maybe someday you’ll learn the value of it.” He headed for the stairs and then stopped. “I’m leaving for Charleston in an hour. Magnus will be here if you need anything.”
“Charleston? You’re leaving today?”
His eyes mocked her. “Were you expecting a honeymoon?”
“No, of course not. But don’t you think it’s going to look a little strange if you leave so soon after our—our wedding?”
“Since when have you cared what people think?”
“I don’t. I was just thinking about Miss Dolly and her cake.” Her anger ignited. “Go to Charleston. Go to hell for all I care.”
She pushed past him and stalked out the front door. She half expected him to come after her, half hoped he would. She wanted a fight, a raging argument on which to blame her unhappiness. But the door remained shut.
She went to the live oak behind the house and leaned against one of the great drooping branches. How was she to survive being his wife?
