He hadn't raised his voice, but the rebuke was clear, and Dora flushed.

They were nearing the lake, and Cain pulled the carriage to a stop. "My stable boy isn't an ordinary servant," he continued, his tone somewhat lighter. "He's a disciple of Ralph Waldo Emerson."

Kit looked away from a family of swans gliding between the canoes to see if he was making fun of her, but he didn't seem to be. Instead, he laid his arm over the back of the leather seat and turned to face her. "Is Mr. Emerson the only writer you read, Kit?"

Dora's indignant huff made Kit garrulous. "Oh, I read 'bout everything I can lay mv hands on. Ben Franklin, of course, but most everybody reads him. Thoreau, Jonathan Swift. Edgar Allan Poe when I'm in the mood. I don't hold much with poetry, but otherwise I have a generally voracious appetite."

"So I see. Maybe you just haven't read the right poets. Walt Whitman, for example."

"Never heard of him."

"He's a New Yorker. Worked as a nurse during the war."

"I don't reckon I could stomach a Yankee poet."

Cain lifted an amused brow. "I'm disappointed. Surely an intellectual like yourself wouldn't let prejudice interfere with an appreciation for great literature."

He was laughing at her, and she felt her hackles rising. "It surprises me you even know the name of a poet, Major, 'cause you don't look much like a reader to me. But I guess that's the way it is with big men. All the muscle goes to their bodies, not sparin' much for the brain."

"Impertinent!" Dora shot Cain an I-told-you-so look.

Cain ignored it and studied Kit more closely. The boy had guts, he'd give him that. He couldn't be older than thirteen, the same age Cain had been when he'd run away. But Cain had nearly reached his adult height at that time, while Kit was small, only a couple of inches over five feet.

Cain noted how delicate the boy's grimy features were: the heart-shaped face, the small nose with its decided upward tilt, and those thickly lashed violet eyes. They were the kind of eyes women prized, but they looked foolish on a boy and would look even more outlandish when Kit grew to be a man.