Just Imagine (33 page)

White and black alike, every woman in the county came to see her sooner or later. She could cure warts, predict the future, make love potions, and determine the sex of unborn babies. She was the only one Kit knew who could help.

"Afternoon, Conjure Woman. It's Kit Weston—Katharine Louise Cain now—Garrett Weston's daughter. You remember me?"

The door creaked open far enough for an old, grizzled head to protrude. "You Garrett Weston's young'un all grown up." The old woman let out a dry, rasping cackle. "Your daddy, he be burnin' in hellfire for sure."

"You're prob'ly right about that. May I come in?"

The old lady stood back from the door, and Kit stepped inside a room that was tiny and well-scrubbed, despite its clutter. Bunches of onions, garlic, and herbs hung from the rafters, odd pieces of furniture filled the corners, and an old spinning wheel sat near the cabin's only window. One wall of the room held crude wooden shelves bowed in the center from the weight of assorted crocks and jars.

The Conjure Woman stirred the fragrant contents of a kettle hanging by an iron hook over the fire. Then she lowered herself into a rocker next to the hearth. Just as if she were alone, she began to rock and hum in a voice as dry as fallen leaves.

"There is a balm in Gilead…"

Kit sat in the chair closest to her, a ladder-back with a sagging rush seat, and listened. Ever since that morning's church service, she'd tried to think of what she'd do if she had a baby. She'd be bound to Cain for the rest of her life. She couldn't let that happen, not while there was still a chance for her, some miracle that would give her freedom and make everything right again.

As soon as they'd returned from church, Cain had disappeared, but Kit hadn't been able to get away until much later that afternoon, when Miss Dolly retired to her bedroom to read her Bible and nap.

The Conjure Woman finally stopped singing. "Child, you lay your troubles on Jesus, you gonna feel a whole lot better."

"I don't think Jesus can do much about my troubles."

The old lady looked up at the ceiling and cackled. "Lord? You listenin' to this child?" Laughter rattled her bony chest. "She thinks You cain't help her. She thinks ol' Conjure Woman can help her, but Your son Jesus Christ cain't." Her eyes were beginning to water from her amusement, and she dabbed at them with the corner of her apron. "Oh, Lord," she cackled, "this child—she's so young."

Kit leaned forward and touched the old woman's knee. "It's just that I need to be certain, Conjure Woman. I can't have a baby. That's why I've come to you. I'll pay you well if you'll help me."

The old woman stopped her rocking and looked Kit full in the face for the first time since she'd entered the cabin. "Chil'ren are the Lord's blessin'."

"They're a blessing I don't want." The heat in the small cabin was oppressive, and she rose. "When I was a child, I overheard the slave women talking. They said you sometimes helped them keep from having more children, even though you could have been put to death for it."

The Conjure Woman's yellowed eyes narrowed with something like contempt. "Those slave women gonna have their chil'ren sold away. You a white woman. You don't ever have to worry none about havin' your babies ripped out of your arms so you never see them again."

"I know that. But I can't have a baby. Not now."

Once again the old lady began to rock and sing. "There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole. There is a balm in Gilead…"

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

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.

"Never mind, I'll take the damned things off myself."

"Are you sure? I live to be helpful."

He shot her a dark look, muttered something under his breath, and jerked off the boots. When he rose to take off his clothes, she busied herself by straightening the items on the top of the bureau.

She heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, then a splash as he lowered himself into the tub. "Come over here and scrub my back."

He knew he'd gotten the short end of their previous exchange, and now he intended to make up for it. She turned and saw him slouched low in the tub, his arm propped on the side, one wet calf dangling over the edge. "Take off your dress first so you don't get it wet."

This time he was certain she'd defy him, which would give him an excuse to be even more unpleasant. But he wasn't going to win that easily, especially when she wore a modestly cut chemise beneath, along with several petticoats. She avoided looking into the tub water as she unfastened her dress. "How considerate you are."

The water must have soothed him, because his eyes lost their hard look and developed an evil gleam. "Thank you for noticing. Now scrub my back."

She's scrub it, all right. She's scrub the skin off.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry," she said innocently from her position behind him. "
I
thought you were tougher."

"Don't forget my chest," he said by way of retaliation.

This would be awkward, and he knew it. She'd deliberately kept herself behind him, but it would be hard to wash his chest like that. She gingerly reached around him.

"You can't do a good job like that." He caught her wrist and pulled her to the side of the tub, soaking the front of her chemise in the process.

Avoiding looking down, she put the sponge to his chest and began soaping the mat of hair that stretched across it. She did her best not to linger over the white, lathery circles she made, but the swirling patterns icing those solid muscles enticed her. She wanted to paint in them.

One of her hairpins came out, and a lock of hair dipped into the water. Cain reached up to tuck it behind her ear. She sat back on her heels. His eyes drifted from her face to her breasts. She knew without looking that the water had made her chemise transparent.