Page 82 of Just Imagine
Kit walked over to the window. It wasn’t any use. The Conjure Woman wouldn’t help her.
“That Yankee man. He got the devil in him, but he got goodness, too.”
“A lot of devil and very little goodness, I think.”
The old lady chuckled. “A man like that, he got strong seed. Ol’ Conjure Woman needs strong med’cine to fight that seed.” She struggled out of her chair and shuffled over to the wooden shelves, where she peered into first one container and then another. Finally, she poured a generous supply of grayish-white powder into an empty jelly jar and covered the top with a piece of calico she tied on with a string. “You stir a dab of this powder in a glass of water and drink all of it in the mornin’, after he have his way with you.”
Kit took the jar and gave her a swift, grateful hug. “Thank you.” She pulled out several greenbacks she’d tucked into her pocket and pressed them into her hand.
“You just do what ol’ Conjure Woman tells you, missy. Ol’ Conjure Woman, she know what’s best.” And then she let out another wheezy cackle and turned back to the fire, chuckling at a joke known only to herself.
16
Kit was standing on a low stepladder in the library, trying to retrieve a book, when she heard the front door open. The grandfather’s clock in the sitting room struck ten. Only one person slammed a door like that. All evening she’d been bracing herself for his return.
That afternoon, on her way back from the Conjure Woman’s, she’d caught a glimpse of him in the distance. Since it was Sunday, he’d been working alone at the mill. He was stripped to the waist, unloading lumber he’d brought back from Charleston.
“Kit!”
The light from the library window had given her away, and from the sound of his bellow, he wasn’t in a good mood.
The library door flew back on its hinges. His shirt was stained with sweat and his dirty nankeen trousers were tucked into boots that had undoubtedly left muddy tracks down the hallway. Sophronia wouldn’t be happy about that.
“When I call you, I want you right away,” he growled.
“If only I had wings,” she said sweetly, but the man had no sense of humor.
“I don’t appreciate having to look all over the house for you when I come home.”
He was being so outrageous that she nearly laughed. “Perhaps I should wear a bell. Would you like something?”
“You’re damn right I would. A bath, for one thing, and clean clothes. Then I want dinner. In my room.”
“I’ll get Sophronia.” Even as she said it, she had a fairly good idea he’d take issue.
“Sophronia isn’t my wife. She isn’t the one who made me spend the last six hours unloading lumber I wouldn’t have needed if you weren’t so handy with a match.” He leaned against the doorframe, blatantly daring her to defy him. “You’ll take care of me.”
She did her best to prod his ill humor by smiling. “My pleasure. I’ll see about your bath.”
“And dinner.”
“But of course.” As she swept past him and headed for the kitchen, she played with a fantasy of jumping on Temptation and riding away forever, but it would take more than an evil-tempered husband to make her leave Risen Glory.
Sophronia was nowhere in sight, so she had Lucy get Cain’s bath ready, then looked for something to feed him. She considered rat poison, but finally settled on the plate of food Patsy had kept warm on the back of the stove. She removed the towel so everything would be as cold as possible when he ate it.
Lucy appeared somewhat breathlessly at the door. “Mr. Cain says he wants you upstairs right now.”
“Thank you, Lucy.” As she carried the plate upstairs, she blew on the warm roast and potatoes, hoping to cool them off even more. She thought of dumping extra salt on top, but she didn’t have the heart for it. He might be the devil incarnate, but he’d worked hard today. Lukewarm food was as far as she was prepared to go.
When she entered the room, she saw Cain sprawled in a chair, still fully dressed. He looked as grouchy as a lion with a thorn in its paw. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Seeing to your dinner, dearest.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Help me off with my damned boots.”
Even though his boots were mud-encrusted, he could have easily taken them off by himself, but he was spoiling for a fight. Normally she’d have been happy to oblige him, but since a fight was what he wanted, she chose to be perverse. “Of course, my lamb.” She crossed over to him, turned her back, and straddled his leg. “If you brace yourself, it’ll come off easier.”
The only way he could brace himself would be to put his other muddy boot on her bottom. As she suspected, that was too much, even for him.
