Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Oh, sorry,” Emily smiled prettily. “I lost my balance.”

She had stepped off the curb right onto Trent’s foot.

“How does lunch sound? There’s a nice little restaurant on the outskirts of town. We’ll take the carriage…” Jon said, but that was as far as he got.

“My purse! Oh no! My purse! I’ve lost my purse!” a woman in the crowd screeched. She wasn’t more than a handful of yards away from them. “Help! Help! He stole my purse. That colored man stole my purse! Help!”

A large, thickly muscled colored man near the woman looked up. As if he suddenly realized he was being accused, he began pushing and shoving his way through the masses. Several men grabbed for him, but no one was able to hold him. Riotous shouts went up everywhere. All Jessica knew was that the big colored man was barreling straight toward her and Jon.

With his arm securely around her shoulders, Jon tried to draw Jessica away, but people were so crammed in around them, they didn’t get far. “Stay close to me,” he hollered just as the thief collided with Trent.

“Oh no! Trent!” Jessica cried. Above the din she heard Emily holler Trent’s name, too.

The colored man twisted and shoved his elbow hard into Trent’s ribs. Trent growled loudly, but didn’t let go. A punch was thrown, but Trent ducked in time. He was still holding onto the colored man when both of them went down. Jessica couldn’t see either one of them any longer. She couldn’t see Emily either. What she did see were several men jumping into the melee. Fists were flying and people were screaming. Not just adults but children, too. A shrill cry went up and a woman shrieked, “My baby! My baby!”

To Jessica, Jon yelled, “Stay here!”

In seconds, she lost him in the swarm, but it was impossible to try to look for anyone. She was being shoved this way and that, like she’d been swept up in a great tidal current. All she could do was keep her head up and try to stay afloat.

But then, in a sudden, brief break in the waves, she saw Jon. He was carrying a small boy who looked to be no more than two or three years old. There was no question in Jessica’s mind, in a crowd this dense, a child that small would be crushed to death. Jon had saved that little boy’s life. The poor thing was still bawling, and clinging to Jon’s neck for dear life.

Police whistles blew as officers tried to make their way through the mob. Things only worsened as, instead of breaking up the fight, the police became embroiled in it. Blows rained down, not only on those who fought, but on innocent bystanders who were trapped near them. The screams of women and children were loud, drowning out the thuds of connecting fists, and the yells and grunts of the men involved. People tried to escape, but getting away posed the same difficulty as staying in the same place.

Gradually the police, along with help from Trent and several others, gained some semblance of control. Jessica heard someone yell, “He’s gone! The nigger that stole that lady’s purse got away!”

Peering over shoulders and between peoples’ heads, Jessica caught sight of Jon again. He was holding a little girl. A frantic, crying woman shoved her way toward him. But then, rather than being appreciative of Jon’s efforts to rescue her child, she slapped him with her purse and snatched the little girl right out of his arms. Without another word, she turned and fled.

Emily, Jessica saw, was pushing her way right past one of the police officers to get to Trent. But before Emily could say a thing, Jon was there, too. Sounding almost panicked, he yelled, “Where’s Jessica?”

“I’m here, Jon! I’m right here!” Jessica called out, but she could tell by the way he scoured the crowd he didn’t hear her. She tried to force her way and couldn’t budge the people around her. Both Trent and Emily, she saw, were anxiously searching for her, too. “I’m here! Jon! Over here!”

This time he heard her. Roughly he shoved through, with Trent on his heels and Emily behind him. Before Jessica knew what was happening, Jon wrapped her in his arms. She could feel his breath in her hair. “Are you alright, Sweetheart? I’m so sorry I left you. I’m so very sorry.”

“I’m fine.” Tentatively Jessica returned his embrace. She was touched by his concern and not at all upset with the impropriety of receiving a hug from a man in public. Jon’s arms were warm and strong, and although it felt odd—she’d never been this close to him before—she liked it. “You did the right thing,” she told him. “Those children you rescued could have been killed.”

Before anymore was said, Trent growled, “Stop it, Emily!”

“But you have dirt on you. Let me get it off.” Emily was batting at his sleeve, and not just any sleeve. The smudges she was trying to remove were on his pinned up, left shoulder. “You were so brave to go after that colored man. I was so scared,” Emily went on. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Trent jerked away. “No! I told you to stop it!”

Emily took a step closer to Trent. On her tiptoes, she was almost nose to nose with him. With one finger she poked sharply into the center of his chest. “You are a putz, Trent Emerson!”

Somewhere behind Jessica, a man said, “Is this your purse, lady? I found it on the ground over here.”

Along with everyone else on the street, Jessica turned. The man holding the purse stood a good distance from where the woman had been earlier. The big colored man hadn’t been anywhere close to that vicinity, making it obvious he couldn’t have stolen the purse. The whole riot had been for nothing.

“May I suggest we go to the carriage?” Jon said.

One block away, thankfully the congestion lessened. Emily, with her nose in the air, sidled up next to Jessica and took her arm. This meant Jon had no choice but to step back and walk with Trent.

In a low voice, as if she didn’t want Jon and Trent to hear, Emily murmured, “Your brother is so strong. I had no idea. Did you see how he tackled that colored man and how he fought? I was so proud of him.” She threw a look over her shoulder that contained much more than admiration.

“I thought you were mad at him,” Jessica stammered.

Emily shrugged. “No, not really. I was mad at him for making that face over your ring earlier. That’s why I stomped on his foot. For the most part, he’s been very pleasant today. You’re right about his arm, though. If anyone calls attention to it, his feathers get ruffled. It’s just an arm, for goodness sake.” Barely pausing for breath, she went on, “Did you see what your captain did? He saved four children from being trampled to death. The first was that cute little boy. Why his mother would have put him down in a crowd like this in the first place, I’ll never know. What was the woman thinking…”

It wasn’t easy, above Emily’s chatter, to eavesdrop on the conversation between Jon and her brother, but that’s what Jessica tried to do. She caught some things, like Jon praising Trent for his right hook. Then he said, “It was good that you stepped in the way you did. It’s too bad that thief got away…”

Jessica didn’t hear the rest, and Trent’s reply was mumbled so she couldn’t hear him either. It was obvious, however, he wasn’t being cordial. In a quick glance thrown over her shoulder, she saw he was scowling again.

The next thing she caught Jon saying was, “Jessica told me about an organization, I think she called it the Southern Sons or something like that. She said this group helps out in situations like this one when the police can’t handle it. It seems to me…”

Again, due to Emily’s rambling, she didn’t catch the rest of what Jon said, but this time she did hear Trent’s reply, and there was no mistaking his disdain.

“It’s the Sovereign Sons of the South, Captain, and it’s none of your concern!” With that, he hastened forward and caught Emily’s elbow, yanking her out of the reticent hold she had on Jessica.

“Trent, what are you doing?” Emily shrieked.

He drug Emily along at such a fast pace, she stumbled. Floored by her brother’s obnoxious behavior, Jessica waited for Jon to catch up. Ahead of her Emily was ranting, “What is wrong with you, Trent Emerson! For heaven’s sake, slow down…”

Jessica wasn’t worried about Emily. Emily could handle Trent just fine. Jon took her hand and they continued at a more leisurely pace. “I’m sorry about Trent,” she said quietly. “For some reason he has taken a disliking to you and I don’t know why.”

“I do,” Jon said. “He’s protecting you. I understand, and I’m not upset about it at all. As I told you before, there’s no need to apologize for him.”

Jessica didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” Jon went on, “Trent will come around. Soon enough he’ll realize how much I care for you, how devoted I am to you, and when he does, everything will work out. You’ll see.”

Leading two fully saddled horses, the man in black reached the isolated, small shack, near the railroad tracks, just after dark set in. The Klansmen were on their way. He had passed the white garbed group minutes before. They were in no great hurry and that gave him a little more time. All he knew about the man he’d come to help was that his name was Albert. He didn’t know whether Albert had a family, or if anyone else resided with him. From the outside, the house looked like it could have three or four rooms. It only had one entrance.

Swiftly the man in black dismounted, went up onto the small porch and knocked at the door.

“Who’s dere?” a voice hollered from inside.

“A friend,” the man in black called out.

The door opened a crack. Upon seeing who was there, the man inside attempted to push it shut. But he wasn’t fast enough. The man in black shoved his thick, black riding boot in the jamb and leaned into the door.

“I am a friend,” the man in black repeated. He knew he posed an ominous figure, garbed as he was with his face hidden beneath the kerchief. The colored man’s fear was understandable. “I’m not here to harm you. I’ve come only to warn you.”

The man behind the door let go of it and stepped back, allowing the man in black to push it open. Inside, seated at a table was a second colored man, older than the one who answered. He rose, toppling his chair behind him. The Confederate army issue rifle he held was primed and ready to fire, and aimed directly at the man in black.

“I am not going to hurt you. Put the gun down,” the man in black said. “Which one of you is Albert?”

The younger of the two said, “I am.”

To Albert he said, “The Ku Klux Klan is on their way. Their intent is to lynch you tonight. Outside I have two horses waiting to take you and your family to safety, but there isn’t time to gather your belongings. You have about ten minutes before the Klan arrives.” Turning to the man still holding the rifle, he said, “You need to leave, too. The Klan won’t care if they string up the wrong man.”

“Why are dey afta me?” Albert asked.

“You have been accused of pick pocketing.” The man in black didn’t wait for Albert to either confirm or deny the allegations. “Do you have a wife? Children?”

Albert shook his head.

“Then go. I won’t be far behind you,” He went on to give Albert and his friend the same instructions he’d given to many others—follow the creek north to the marked oak and from there east to the cabins in the woods. “God be with you both,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the house.

Seconds later, not more than a hundred feet or so from the shack, at the top of a hill, the man in black turned Midnight around. From this vantage point, he would be able to observe the Klan, and ensure Albert and his friend escaped without being seen. He was on the ridge less than a minute when he realized he wasn’t alone.

By the obnoxiously loud, hee-haw whinny coming up behind him, he recognized Buster right away. In the dark the man in black couldn’t see him, but he didn’t need to see him. Buster was a horse, but because of his big ears and teeth, he looked more like a donkey. When he let out that awful shriek, he sounded like a donkey, too. Being well over twenty years old, Buster was by far the slowest, most pathetic creature the man in black had ever laid eyes upon. He was also the only animal Herlin Jefferson would dare to ride.

Without turning around, the man in black said, “Herlin, they’re not leaving.”

Ten minutes later, he and Herlin couldn’t yet see the group of Klansmen, but they could hear them in the distance. Albert and his friend were still inside the house. “I’m going back,” the man in black said.

“It’s too dangerous,” Herlin said. “The Klan is too close. You did all you could. There’s nothing you can do if they don’t listen to you.”

“Get back to the cabins, Herlin. I need you there. You shouldn’t be out here anyway.” Without waiting to see whether Herlin obeyed, the man in black took off down the hill.

In the few seconds it took him to reach the shack, the sound of the Klansmen’s horses increased significantly. The group was only minutes away. Before Midnight came to a complete stop, the man in black sprang off, bounded up onto the porch and pounded on the door.

“Albert, you need to leave now!” he hollered. “The Klan is almost here. If you don’t get out of here, they will kill you!”

There was no sound from inside the house. The man in black drew his revolver and kicked the door open. The two men had left their lamp burning, but they were nowhere to be seen. “Hiding won’t work. The Klan will burn you out,” he told them. “I know it’s hard to trust people. But I swear to you, with God as my witness, I’ve come only to help.”

A second later he heard the creaking of a small overhead door. The men were hidden in the attic rafters.

“Quickly. You need to leave. Horses are outside waiting for you,” the man in black said.

As he descended the ladder, Albert yelled, “Get out of my house. Let us be!”

The man in black holstered his gun. “Albert, look outside. You can see the Klan’s torches. I’m not lying to you.”

While Albert peered out, the older man came down the ladder. He still held the heavy rifle.

“Come,” the man in black beckoned them. “Come quickly.”

Outside the man in black helped them mount the two waiting horses. He could tell neither of them were experienced horsemen, but he wasn’t worried. The horses he brought knew their duty. “Hurry. Go. And God be with you.” With that, he slapped the horses on their rumps to send them off.

The man in black followed long enough to ensure Albert and his friend gained sufficient distance for the Klan not to spot them. Satisfied, he turned around. The Klansmen had reached their destination. If the man in black veered past Albert’s house, they would catch a glimpse of him. It was the distraction he wanted to completely guarantee Albert’s escape. He was galloping up the hill, back toward his vantage point, when their first shouts erupted.

“There he is! Get him!”

A quick glance was all the man in black needed to confirm that seven or so Klansmen were after him. The rest of them stayed behind to set up their cross and go after their intended victim. Outdistancing his pursuers wasn’t a problem. Midnight could easily leave the lot of them in the dust.

What he didn’t anticipate, just as he reached the crest of the hill, was hearing Buster’s hee-haw. Herlin was still out there, and Buster was incapable of outrunning the Klan.

* * *

Frantically kicking his heels into Buster’s flanks, Herlin tried to get his old horse to move. Following the major out this night had been a bad idea. He’d been told not to, but he did it anyway. What he should have done was go home when the major told him to. He didn’t listen then either. There was no time, however, to regret his stupidity.

He could hear Midnight’s powerful treads gaining on him. He could hear the Klansmen’s shouts getting louder. It was only a matter of time before the Klan overtook him. And once they did, he knew very well what would happen.

Midnight was suddenly there, neck and neck with Buster, so close that if Buster wasn’t so much shorter than the mighty stallion, Herlin’s stirrups would have collided with the major’s.

“Herlin, grab onto me now!” the man in black ordered as he leaned over from his saddle.

Herlin’s fear of the Klan was much greater than his fear of horses, and he was too scared at that moment to disobey. He yanked his right foot out of the stirrup and dropped his reins.

Backhanded, the major reached across the front of Herlin’s body and grabbed him around the chest. Herlin dug the fingers of one hand into the major’s shoulder. With the other he grabbed onto the saddle. He heard the major’s growl, and the next thing he knew he was being dragged up and off Buster. He landed with a loud “Uumph!” face down across Midnight’s powerful rump.

As the horse thundered on, he flailed, unable at first to find purchase. Grasping desperately he finally caught hold of the major’s shirt. Bunching the material in a tight fist, he clung. Already the major was picking up speed.

“Hold on, Herlin!” the major called out. “Hold on!”

To protect his eyes from the dirt kicked up under Midnight’s hooves, he squeezed them shut. He was being ruthlessly jostled and all he could do, using every bit of his strength, was hang on. In that precarious position, barely able to breathe, he thought of Martha, the love of his life. He thought of his son…

Somewhere in the distance he heard Buster’s loud, donkey-like hee-haw. He hoped Buster would be okay. The only thing left for him to do was pray.

* * *

Herlin was still praying when finally Midnight slowed. He could no longer feel his arms or his legs, and his head was as big as the mansion house at Bent Oak Manor, but he knew they’d made it. The major wouldn’t stop unless they had well outdistanced the Klan and were safe.

“Are you okay back there, Herlin?” the major said.

Herlin opened his eyes. He didn’t recognize where they were—woods to the right, a hayfield to the left—but that didn’t mean much in the darkness. “Can’t breathe, but yeah, I’m okay.” Groaning, he slid off the big horse. His feet hit the ground and for a second he was afraid his wobbly legs would buckle.

The major chuckled and Herlin supposed he must look as bedraggled as he felt. Lightly the major said, “You’ll be okay.”

“I guess I’ve lost Buster. And my cap.”

“We’ll get Buster back. Chances are he’s already on his way home. Horses are smart like that, even horses that are more donkey than horse. And here’s your cap.”

A ball of red came spinning at him. Herlin caught it and dumbly stuck it on his head. How the major retrieved it in all that chaos he couldn’t fathom. His jaw was still hanging open when the major leaned down from the saddle and held his arm out. “Let’s do this the right way this time,” he said.

That meant, in being hoisted up, Herlin was supposed to slide his leg across Midnight’s rump. Straddling the big horse was infinitely more comfortable a position, even if the ground below was far enough away to make his head spin.

“Hold on to me, Herlin,” the major said.

And hold on he did. Very tightly. Within seconds they were rapidly galloping across the countryside again.

Twenty minutes later, the major drew rein behind Herlin’s cabin. Herlin had never been more overjoyed to see that rundown hut than he was at that moment. He was even gladder, once the major handed him down, to have his feet on solid ground. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said humbly.

The major didn’t respond to his apology. Still mounted, he was looking at the second cabin. Light could be seen coming from the small window. “Looks like Albert and his friend made it.”

“I’ll go check on them,” Herlin said.

“No need. They’re fine,” said a man’s voice. It was Ditter, coming around the side of the cabin, holding a lantern high. “Where’s Buster?”

“Long story,” Herlin said, with an apologetic glance toward the major. “Where’s Martha?”

“She’s pretty upset with you for taking off the way you did,” Ditter said.

“Uh oh,” the major chuckled. “You better go make up to her. She’ll give you a better scolding than I ever could.”

“That’s the truth,” Herlin said. He nodded to them both. “Good night, Major. Ditter.”

He was halfway around his house when he heard the crackle of the major’s leather saddle. The successive thumps that followed were the major’s boots hitting the ground. Those sounds were familiar. He’d heard them many times. But then, the major let out a muffled groan and a whispered curse. Herlin stopped and looked back.

“Are you alright, sir?” Ditter asked.

The major was standing beside his horse, but oddly, still holding onto the saddle. Without turning, he said, “Yeah, Ditter, I’m fine. Midnight’s thirsty so I’m headed to the creek. Then I’ll see about rounding up Buster. Get yourself some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir,” Ditter said.

* * *

Jessica’s spirits couldn’t have been better as she saddled Jasmine in preparation for her excursion with Jon. Today was especially exciting because they were going to ride at Bent Oak Manor. Jon wanted to give her a tour of the grounds and the house. Now that all the repairs were finished, he was anxious for her to see it. And, since they’d set the wedding date, he thought it would be a good idea for her to familiarize herself with everything beforehand. In three weeks Bent Oak Manor would be her home!

As always, Jon was right on time when he came to collect her. Side by side, on horseback, it didn’t take long to travel the few miles to the manor. Soon enough they were turning into the cherry tree lined drive. A moment more and the beautiful house came into view. On the rising hills beyond it were acres upon acres of fenced pasture land, with more horses grazing in them than Jessica could count. Even from the distance she could tell they were all beautiful, large, muscular creatures. Most of them were chestnut in color, but there were black horses and white horses, too. She also saw several that were painted. Jon had told her he had seventy-eight thoroughbreds, most of them quarter horses.