Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (16 page)

His footfalls on the stairs made Jessica’s heart leap. But he didn’t come to her room. He turned down the hallway in the opposite direction to go to his own. She knew from the tour, that he would keep a separate bedroom. In her old home, the house wasn’t big enough for the master and mistress to have separate quarters, but the house at Bent Oak Manor was. There was a small door, however, that connected the two rooms. In the vanity mirror, if she angled herself just right, Jessica could see it.

Of course, she realized belatedly, Jon would go to his own room first. He would undoubtedly want to change his clothes, too. Perhaps, when he came to her, he would be attired in the dark green dressing gown she saw him wearing in Nashville. Through the mirror, her eyes lingered on that small private door. Her ears were as open as they could possibly be, listening for the faintest sounds to indicate what was happening on the other side, but she heard nothing. It wouldn’t be much longer… she was sure of it…

Almost an hour passed. Jessica was still sitting at her vanity in her pale pink lingerie. She took up the brush, if for no other reason, than to keep from falling asleep. Her long tresses were beginning to shine from the endless stroking. Just when she believed Jon wasn’t going to come to her at all, there was a light rap at the connecting door.

“Sweetheart, are you awake? It’s Jon. May I come in?” His voice was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it.

Her heart leapt. The only reply she could make was a breathless, “Yes.”

She set the brush down as that little door opened. Through the mirror, she watched him walk across the room toward her. Rather than appearing in his dressing gown, he was still in his wedding clothes. Most of them, at any rate. It was strange seeing him not fully, or properly attired. His coat and vest were gone and he’d taken his boots off. His feet were bare and several of the top buttons of his blousy white shirt were open. Jessica’s gaze was drawn to the exposed skin in that triangular area and the light smattering of dark hair.

“I thought you might be asleep,” he said as he came up behind her.

In the glass their eyes met briefly, but then, without a word he turned and went to the dresser. Standing there with his back to her, it looked like he was fiddling with something from the dresser top. There were a number of ladies’ trinkets neatly arranged—all gifts from him—but she couldn’t tell which one he picked up. The only thing she could think to do was rise and wait for him to turn around.

When finally he faced her, his eyes traveled up and down, from her head to her feet and back again. Jessica had a sudden, overwhelming urge to cover herself, but instead she stood still with her arms at her sides. Trent said men liked to look at their wives.

“You are so lovely,” he murmured.

Jessica’s stomach fluttered, but she held her smile as he crossed the room toward her again. He didn’t stop until he stood before her, less than a foot away.

“Too lovely,” he whispered as he bent his head. Still keeping the distance between them, without touching her at all, he closed his eyes and brushed his lips tenderly against hers. As he straightened he asked, “Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“Me, too.” His next words were rushed, and as he spoke he turned away from her and went to stand by the dresser again. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can wait. I don’t mind. Perhaps it would be better if we wait. Perhaps it would be better if we just go to sleep. I am a little tired. I’m sorry, Jessica, but there’s something I should have told you. I can’t—”

This forthcoming event was all new to Jessica, but it had never occurred to her it might be new to him, too. He was so worldly, such an awesome man, and she had just assumed he would have experience. Yet, in a strange way, his anxiety gave her an untypical boldness. Or perhaps it was all of that champagne?

“I’m not
that
nervous.” Reaching up, Jessica untied the ribbon drawstring at the low neckline on her chest. Jon’s eyes widened as she slowly lowered one shoulder of the gown and then the other. It slithered down her body and pooled at her feet. The cool, night breeze, drifting through the partially opened window caused goose bumps to form on her skin, everywhere. Standing there, naked before him, she murmured, “Will you kiss me?”

He was across the room in less than a heartbeat, drawing her into his arms, capturing her mouth under his. Jessica had never been kissed with such wild abandon before. The kiss they’d shared after the opera couldn’t compare to this. That kiss was very tender, very soft. This time his lips were heavy and pleading, and there was nothing tentative in the way his tongue challenged hers. During the other kiss his hands hadn’t been boldly roaming over her skin, but in this one they were, down her spine, along her shoulders, the length of her arms, fisting in her hair, gently pressing her neck, directing her head to a different angle. The knots in her stomach twisted lower and her knees turned to jelly. The only thing missing, the only voice left inside her head cried out, demanding she give in to her own desire and touch him, too.

Somewhere in the midst of the incredible urgency, one of his arms slipped between them. Jessica didn’t know what he was trying to do until she felt the back of his hand twisting against her breast. Breaking their kiss, she helped him unbutton his shirt. Before it hit the floor, his lips found hers again.

But then, just when she was beginning to once again spiral out of control, when she was feeling the warm, smooth, hardness of his flesh under her palms, it was over. He let go of her. “Jess, I want to. I do… but I can’t do this…”

Flustered, Jessica didn’t know what to do. His eyes glanced downward and came back to hers, and he did it again. It was as if he couldn’t control himself, as though he was trying not to look, but had no choice. Somehow those unchecked glimpses ignited a spark inside of her. Boldly, she took his hand. Their arms became stretched between them as she walked backwards toward the bed, pulling him along. Those unending looks of his were making her feel beautiful.

At the bed, taking her time, knowing his eyes were on her, she lay down on the creamy silk sheets and scooted over so there was space enough for him. But rather than joining her, Jon just stood there. Jessica wasn’t deterred. She used the moment to peruse his naked upper body the same way he perused hers.

His torso was lean. She could see his collar bones and his ribs under his skin, but he wasn’t at all like the skinny man in Trent’s photographs. That man had no definition in his muscles. While none of Jon’s were overly huge, they were all detailed, from the firm pectorals dusted with a light layer of dark hair, to the squared ridges in his stomach. His shoulder and arm muscles were distinct, too, and his forearms were covered with the same light layer of black hair. She would have kept going farther, except he made a funny noise in his throat, part growl and part groan. Jessica didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t need to know. Still wearing his trousers he knelt on the bed. A second later, she was in his arms.

This time he didn’t just take her mouth. He kissed her hands, her arms, her shoulders, her throat, and gently tugged at her earlobe. And his mouth wasn’t the only thing making paths on her skin. His palms and his fingers took turns gallantly wandering over her stomach, her ribs. She jerked madly at his first claim on her breast, partly in surprise, but more from the plethora of amazing sensations he was creating. She tingled everywhere and the pressure between her legs was intensifying drastically.

“Dear God, you’re perfect. So perfect. I have to touch you,” Jon whispered as his hand moved lower, over her stomach, lower to the curls between her legs. In reaction, Jessica’s knee came up. What he was doing to her was nothing like she’d ever imagined. It was so much more. He was causing a storm to brew inside of her, a wonderful, magnificent storm, and only he held the power to unleash its final, desperate fury.

She writhed, clutching the bedspread. Little mewling noises came out of her throat. She could barely breathe as he caught her mouth for another plundering, insistent kiss. Within moments she was undone. Crying out, she shuddered and shuddered again.

Gasping, in an attempt to find her breath again, Jessica opened her eyes. The expression on Jon’s face, as he gazed down at her, was almost fierce.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “So amazing. I want so badly to taste you.”

Jessica didn’t know what he meant by that. What she did know was that her own hands ached to feel more of him, to unveil him as he had unveiled her. Rising up, she took his mouth with her own, and with deliberate care, she delved in. He was so hard, so solid, just like she remembered him being in the coach on the way to Nashville, except this was so much better, because her fingers were directly on his smooth, heated skin. She explored his arms, his back, the sides of his torso. Twisting under him, she moved away enough to have better access to his chest, to feel his muscles and his small, puckered nipples. It was a heady sensation to realize she could invoke the same response in him that he’d invoked in her. Down from there, his stomach twitched and contracted beneath her fingers. It felt right to move lower, just as he’d done to her, except he was still wearing his trousers. Daringly she cupped the masculine hardness of him, so terribly stressed, but trapped inside of them.

Instantly, he jerked his hips away and a stifled groan came out of him.

“Was that wrong?” she asked uncertainly.

He exhaled and whispered, “It was too right.” Then he said, “Jess, I have to stop.”

“Why?”

“I can’t,” he stuttered. “I was… the war… I just can’t…”

The tension in him was so severe, Jessica could feel it. She was sure she knew what the cause of it was, and for him it had to be worse. The only cure was to give him the release he’d given her. To do that, she needed to free him first. She went to his fly, intending to find the buttons, but he caught her hand and drew it away.

“Don’t, Jess. Oh, God… please…” He was cringing like he was in pain.

Taken aback, she stammered, “But you said it was the right thing to do.”

He looked away and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, “I just… I’m afraid I will hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.” She went for the buttons again, whispering, “Let me. Please.” This time he didn’t stop her. Another button was undone, and another. When her knuckles brushed against his flesh, he groaned and dropped from his elbow to his back. In seconds he was kicking his trousers and underclothing away.

Taking her time, and by instinct alone, Jessica explored. The adult male anatomy was something she’d never really seen, let alone touched, before. Even though the man in Trent’s photographs was naked, this particular part of him wasn’t fully shown. Jon was trembling, really trembling. He was gripping the sheet with one hand and his eyes were rolling back in his head. The idea that she could make him feel so much was riveting. With a great degree of marvel, she whispered, “It’s so big. Your skin is so soft. Is this right? Does this feel good to you?”

His response was a hoarse, “Too good. Oh, dear God, Jess…”

As his hips came off the bed, surging upward into her stroking, she did what felt right, moving to straddle him the same way the woman had straddled the man in Trent’s photograph. Then leaning over, she brought her mouth to his. She felt his hands in her hair, holding her steady, while down below she moved her hips, grazing his most sensitive place with her own. This wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to work, that much she knew, but what she was doing felt good, and judging by Jon’s moan, he was enjoying it, too.

Rising up to a different angle, she was able to increase the pressure and move faster. Jon’s breath, audibly rushing in and out of him, inspired her to keep going. He gripped her hips with both hands. At first she thought his intension was to guide her, but when his grip tightened, she wasn’t sure anymore.

“Jess, stop. Stop,” he whispered. “You’re going to make me… oh, oh, God…”

Jessica didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not yet. Shaking her head, she surged against him. In the next instant, she didn’t know exactly what happened, but the tip of him somehow got caught against her. In that millisecond she realized what she needed to do.

Jon’s fingertips curled in on her hips and he cried out hoarsely, “No!”

But it was too late. Already she was settling back, deepening their joining. In awe of the filling sensation, cringing through the brief tugging pain, she was unable to take her eyes from Jon’s. The tender way he reached up to her to cradle her face between his hands, the worry that filled his eyes, made her heart trip. The only problem was that she wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

But she didn’t have to know. Jon took over for her. He drew in a hard breath and without withdrawing rolled her over on the bed. As her knees came up around his hips, he began to move very slowly, in and out of her. The whole time he stared into her eyes, and then breathlessly he whispered, “You feel so good… so very, very good. I love you. I love you so much…”

Jessica was blissfully lost.

This time his purpose in going to Shanty Town was different. The charitable donations had stopped. Whether it was because people from the congregation had given all they could, or someone caught wind of where he was taking their things, Sebastian wasn’t sure. No one said a word to him, but he guessed it was the latter. It struck him as ironic that during his home visits with members of his congregation, he could learn almost any secret he wanted to know, but lips were completely sealed about his charity project.

The human character with its juxtaposition of good and evil had always fascinated Sebastian. There were very few people in whom he couldn’t find some good, even in those, who, from all outward appearances, were evil. He supposed this was why there weren’t many he could say he disliked. Since living in Mount Joy, he’d been privy to many things that made his blood boil. One of them was the crass comment Jonathan Kinsley made during his wedding reception. Just as bad were the guffaws of laughter that followed from William Hughes, Arnold Whistler and Edward Murphy.

Sebastian could sympathize with those who suffered losses during the war. He could even find understanding for those who had changed, and subsequently done things they shouldn’t because of it. Edward Murphy hadn’t been harshly affected by the war. He didn’t go to fight. His home wasn’t damaged. He’d been a poor dirt farmer before the war, and he still was. Sebastian’s dislike of Edward Murphy was so severe just thinking of the man caused him to cringe. How his wife could stand being near the inherently uncouth beast, Sebastian couldn’t imagine. He felt sorry for her. Worse, however, was how he ached for their three sons and two daughters. Daily these children were subjected to Edward Murphy’s twisted principals. All Sebastian could do was pray they would be able to see through their father’s immorality.

Arnold Whistler wasn’t much better. He was a hog farmer who had signed up to fight for the Confederacy at the onset of the war. He’d become ill with dysentery before he saw any combat and was sent home. Arnold was a big, strapping man, who rudely made fun of others, crassly at times, even those purported to be his friends. Many times Sebastian heard both Arnold Whistler and Edward Murphy make comments similar to the one made by Jon Kinsley.

William Hughes was more distinguished. He was a gentleman and carried himself as one. He was older, at least ten years Luther Emerson’s senior, and had suffered greatly during the war. Three of his four sons had perished. Since the war, his wife had become a complete recluse. She wouldn’t even allow Sebastian to visit. He understood William Hughes’s anger and hatred, even if it was misdirected.

Jonathan Kinsley, on the other hand, had surprised him. His first impression of Kinsley had been that, although mildly conceited, he was essentially a kind, unselfish man, strong of faith, and one who wouldn’t hesitate to stand up in the face of adversity, especially against those who threatened people he cared for. Sebastian had been moved by Kinsley’s devotion to Jessica Emerson, and he’d believed her influence would enable Kinsley to overcome his insecurities. Sebastian had been so favorably impressed, he’d hoped, with a little bit of swaying, he could count on Kinsley’s support. At the wedding reception, all of Sebastian’s hopes were shattered. What he’d believed to be merely the ambiguity of a man looking for acceptance in a new community, turned out to be well hidden bigotry—bigotry as deeply-seated as Edward Murphy’s.

Jessica Emerson surprised him, too, but in an entirely different way. He expected her to be similar to her father and Trent in their regard for the black community, not inherently cruel, merely naïve, a product of their society. But Jessica was as upset by her new husband’s comment as Sebastian. She hid it well, and he guessed no one else noticed, not even Kinsley, but the disillusionment in her expression was readily evident to him. His admiration for her instantly grew, but so did his concern.

Sebastian was less than a mile from Shanty Town and still thinking of Jessica when his horse started bellowing and sidestepping, ignoring his commands. “Whoa, boy,” Sebastian soothed. Leaning forward, he ran his hand down the stallion’s neck. His horse moved on, as directed, but he could feel the graceful animal’s instinctive agitation. Squinting against the bright sunlight, Sebastian peered around in every direction, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. “What is it, boy? What’s out there?”

The minute he rounded the bend in the road, he saw exactly what was causing his horse’s distress. Less than a hundred yards ahead of him were two white men on horseback. Between them was a black man on foot.

Sebastian picked up his pace. Within seconds he was close enough to hear them. He was also close enough to see that he’d been mistaken. The black man wasn’t a grown man. He was merely a teenaged boy. The white men, both of whom were carrying clubs, were circling around the youth, verbally taunting him. Twice Sebastian saw the boy try to bolt out from between their horses. Both times he was viciously clubbed. It was no surprise to Sebastian that one of the white men was Edward Murphy. The other, a bearded man with dark hair, he didn’t recognize.

How long this had been going on, or how many blows the boy had taken, Sebastian could only guess. Somehow, though staggering, the child was still on his feet. The last blow, however, hit him hard across the back and he went down. Still circling around him, the white men whooped and hollered. As the boy struggled to get up, they leaned over from their saddles to poke at him with their clubs.

“Let him alone!” Sebastian shouted as he continued to advance.

“Well, if it ain’t that Yankee preacher!” he heard Edward Murphy chortle to his companion.

Both of them turned their attention to him. But then, seeing the boy almost gain his footing, the bearded man slammed him backhanded. With a grunt the youth fell again, landing hard in the dusty, dirt roadway.

Sebastian was less than ten feet away when he brought his horse to a halt. “I said leave him alone!”

“You cain’t tell us what ta do, preacher. We don’t belong ta yer church,” the bearded man sniggered.

“I don’t give a damn what church you belong to. There is no excuse for beating a defenseless child!”

“It’s a nigger, Reverend. We was just havin’ some fun,” Edward Murphy tittered. He probably would have said more, but just then the boy stood up and both white men turned on their victim. Edward Murphy jammed the rounded end of his club into the child’s throat. “Don’t move,
boy
, or I’ll break yer neck!”

Sebastian drew his revolver. The sound of the hammer’s click was a noise every man knew well. In an instant Edward Murphy and his accomplice’s attention returned to him and the gun pointed at them. “Touch that boy again and I will shoot you both.”

“Well, look at that, a preacher wit’ a gun!” the bearded man mocked. “You ain’t gonna shoot nobody, preacher. Preachers cain’t do that kinda thang.”

Sebastian adjusted his aim so the barrel of his revolver was pointed directly at the bearded man’s face. Concisely, icily, he said, “Preachers are not free from sin.”

Both men just stared at him.

“I suggest you be on your way,” he said to them.

Scowling fiercely, Edward Murphy jerked on his horse’s reins. “Let’s go, Abe.” They rode off, but they didn’t get far before Edward Murphy turned back and spat, “You better be careful, Nash. You’re stickin’ yer nose where it don’t belong!”

Sebastian didn’t holster his revolver until both men were long enough out of sight and he knew they wouldn’t return. Only then did he dismount to see to the youth.

The child’s face was bloodied in several places. Already his skin was beginning to swell from the blows. Sebastian could only imagine what the rest of his body looked like under his ragged clothing. “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

“David,” the boy said.

“Do you live in Shanty Town?” To the boy’s nod, he asked, “Can you walk? Are you alright to get home?”

David nodded again.

Leading his horse, Sebastian kept in step with the youth. They had at least a half mile to go to reach Shanty Town, and the boy’s condition prevented them from moving with any speed. This, however, was okay with Sebastian. He was in no great hurry.

“I want to tell you a story about a young man, who, just like you, was named David,” he said. “He was a great king, but long before that, when he was just a boy about your age, he did something spectacular. You see, his community had enemies, and among those enemies was a fearsome warrior, a giant known as Goliath…”

By the time Sebastian finished the story, he and David were approaching the one-room shack David called home, and they weren’t alone. They were being trailed by a number of young children. Most of them wore clothes and shoes Sebastian recognized. That, at least, made him smile.

Before David could open the door of his house, it swung wide and a young woman came out. Seeing David’s broken, bleeding face, she stopped short. The distress in her expression was evident, but before she said a word, David told her, “Dere was two o’ dem, Mama. But I’s okay. Reverend saved me.”

Tears sprang to the young woman’s eyes. As she turned to him, Sebastian thought she didn’t look old enough to be David’s mother. She was little more than a teenager, too. “Thank ya, suh,” she said.

“No need to thank me. Your son is a remarkable young man. He was very brave. You can be proud of him.” Sebastian couldn’t refuse their invitation to come into their miniscule home. There, he met other members of David’s family, a grandmother and an aunt. While David’s mother tended to her son’s wounds, which thankfully turned out to be superficial, his aunt offered tea. Sebastian politely refused.

Next she said, “We has one jar o’ peaches lef’. I kin gives ya a plate o’ peaches.” From a paint chipped cupboard, she took out the jar and held it up to show him. It still had Jessica Emerson’s ribbon tied around the lid.

“Truly I thank you, but it’s not necessary. Save those for your family.” Afraid she would try to give him something else, Sebastian made his excuses. “I appreciate your hospitality, and I would love to stay, but I must be going.” To David, whose face and head was now swathed in bandages, he said, “Remember, sometimes the most terrifying giants can be defeated. You’ll be feeling better before you know it.”

“Will ya be at da church agin on Sundee?” David asked.

“Yes, I will be.”

“We liked yer lesson las’ week,” David’s mother said. Behind her, the aunt and grandmother’s heads bobbed in unison.

After thanking them again, Sebastian took his leave. Just as he was closing the door behind him, he heard the grandmother say, “Dat one be a good white man.”

He was thankful for the momentary chuckle, because it helped dispel some of his fury. Even so, by the time he traveled the short distance along the railroad tracks to his original destination, he was raging once again. The wood-planked building he dismounted in front of was small, but sturdy. It didn’t have a steeple, but a neatly chiseled cross was nailed to the front door. As Sebastian dismounted, that door swung inward and a black man wearing a clerical collar emerged.

The residents of Shanty Town, being apprehensive of Sebastian’s frequent appearances, had asked the Reverend Samuel Amos to intervene on their behalf. The day Sebastian met him was the day he’d dropped off the fourth and last pile of donations. Within minutes of shaking Reverend Amos’s hand, Sebastian knew he’d found a kindred spirit. They had much more in common than being close in age and height. In addition they were both from New England, and Sam had attended the same seminary as Sebastian’s father. Fortunately, Sam’s Sunday services were held much earlier in the morning than his own, which meant Sebastian could participate in them, and he had been.

As they shook hands, Sam said, “That’s a mighty fine horse you’ve got there. A thoroughbred, is he? I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, what do you call him?”

“Apostle.” Sebastian grinned.

“Ah! Good name.” As he absently stroked Apostle’s nose, Sam teased, “I’m not so sure I want you preaching at my church any more. All I’ve heard from my congregation this week is how much they enjoyed your sermon. They all want to know when the big white man is coming back.”

Sebastian laughed. “I will know my prayers have been answered the day I hear a white man say, ‘When is the big black man coming back?’ ”

Sam chuckled. “Come on in. We have much to talk about.”

Before he followed Sam inside, Sebastian glanced toward the road. From the church he couldn’t see the part of it where he’d encountered Edward Murphy and the bearded man, but he could picture it in his mind. And he could see the youth, David’s battered face.

* * *

The Klan meeting was over. The rest of Edward Murphy’s comrades had taken off. He had, too, except he didn’t get far down the road before he remembered there were stains on his robe. His wife needed to launder it. Whistling, he swung down from his horse and sauntered into the old abandoned barn. It was too dark to see inside, so he grabbed one the lanterns hanging there, and lit it.

It didn’t take long to retrieve his robe. He was still whistling when he came out. After blowing out the lantern, he reached through the barn door to put it back on the hook. His fellow Klansmen wouldn’t be happy if it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Order was important to them. It was important to Edward, too. Just as he hung the lantern, he heard the distinct click of a revolver hammer. It was right behind his left ear!