Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (29 page)

* * *

For most of the night, Jessica lay awake listening for Jon. After dinner, he went out with his friends, but this was no surprise. He was going out at night more and more. Undoubtedly, he would be drunk when he came in. He hadn’t knocked on her door since the night she dragged him into her room, but part of her hoped he would knock. If he did, she had every intention of leaving him out in the hallway! But she didn’t hear him come in at all.

This was why she was quite surprised, when she went down for breakfast in the morning, to find him in the dining room. He was standing by the window, staring out. As always, he was perfectly groomed and dressed. The only thing she could assume was that he sneaked in during one of the few moments she dozed off during the night. Purposely ignoring him, she took her seat and reached for the tray of fruit.

He turned around. “Good morning, Sweetheart.”

Jessica concentrated on poking her fork into the peach slices and dropping them onto her plate. She refused to look at him.

“Are we still not speaking?” To Jessica’s continued silence, he said, “I guess not.”

He took his seat at the head of the table and copied her, dishing peaches onto his own plate.

Despite her resolve, Jessica swallowed and looked up. “What are you going to do to Herlin?”

“I have already dealt with Herlin.”

“What did you do to him?”

“I talked to him,” he said.

“Did you beat him?”

“Have you ever seen me beat anyone?”

“Yes!” Jessica screeched.

His eyebrows rose. “Who, pray tell, did I beat?”

“Martha.”

“I never beat Martha,” Jon said.

“You shoved her. You dragged her up by her arm. You left bruises. It’s just as bad.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know I left bruises? Did Martha show you bruises?”

“I just know,” she said.

He looked at her long and hard, let out a loud sigh, and then turned all of his attention to his breakfast.

While Jessica surreptitiously watched him eat, her temper dulled to a simmer. “Jon, why are you getting involved with the Sons?” she implored. “They’re a bad group. They’re the Klan all over again. The Klan killed people and I know the Sons do, too. They are horrible. Why do you want to be part of them?”

“I guess you figured out your brother is involved,” Jon said quietly.

“I intend to speak with him, too. Please get out of it. Please. If the people the Klan are planning to raid are truly guilty of something, turn them in. Let the police do their jobs. Don’t take the law into your own hands. Please. Please,” Jessica begged.

Jon stared across the room as though his thoughts were absorbed in something else. He said nothing.

“Jon, are you listening to me?” she asked.

Abruptly he stood up and walked over to the window. For a long moment he just stood there, in the same stance he’d been in earlier. He still had his back to her when he said, “It’s complicated, Jess. It’s business. I… I—”

The stammer wasn’t like him, but Jessica’s patience was long gone. “You what? You enjoy hurting people? You obviously enjoy scaring them. The people who work for you are so afraid of you they won’t even look at you. Do you have some pathetic masculinity complex that makes it necessary for you to constantly berate those poor souls who don’t have as much as you do? Is that what you have to do in order to feel like a good businessman? You treat your horses better than you treat your servants!

“Why won’t you let them repair their homes? The lumber is here. You can’t send it back. It won’t do anyone any good just sitting in the barn. Why won’t you allow little Willy and Jacob in the stable? They’re good boys, and they just want to help. It won’t hurt anything for them to be there. How can two little boys destroy a saddle? How can two little boys possibly destroy a pitch fork?”

Jon didn’t answer. He was still staring out the window.

“Will you let the servants repair their homes?” she asked.

“No.”

Jessica jumped up from her seat. “Will you at least let little Willy and Jacob help in the stables?”

“No.”

“Fine! Go join your stupid Klan! Go enjoy the torture you inflict on people! Go beat people, destroy their self-respect with your evil tongue! Go put bruises on people! I know you put bruises on Martha. I know because, you son of a bitch, you put bruises on me! And you didn’t hold my arm nearly as tightly as you held Martha’s. Perhaps you’d like to see them. Perhaps that will make you feel better!”

He spun around and Jessica yanked her sleeve up. “Here! Have a look! Will this help you feel like a man? Will this help your depraved sense of business?”

His wide eyes were on her elbow and the four, fingertip shaped, purple marks in the skin above it.

Jessica grabbed a fork from the table and flung it at him. Her aim was true, and she would have hit him had he not sidestepped. The fork clinked loudly against the window glass before bouncing off the sill and clamoring to the floor below.

Without another word, she raced out of the room.

* * *

School was finished for the day, but Chelsea was pulling on Jessica’s skirt. There was no way Jessica could ignore the adorable toddler. She picked her up and sat down at the kitchen table, holding the little girl on her lap so she could doodle on a slate. Chelsea liked to emulate the older children. Of course, the scribbles Chelsea made didn’t at all resemble the letters or numbers she claimed to be drawing. It didn’t take long, either, for the baby’s attention to be drawn elsewhere. When she squirmed to get down, Jessica let her go. There was a blanket set up in one corner of the kitchen as a play area. She ambled over to it, plopped down and picked up her doll.

Rising, Jessica noticed Martha gather something from the laundry basket. At first she thought it was a bed sheet, but as Martha dropped it into the big cauldron over the fireplace, she recognized what it was—a Klan robe. Unable to keep her thoughts to herself, Jessica meandered closer. “It would be better to burn it.”

Martha straightened and turned around. “Oh no, Miss Jessica. Da cap’n’ll be furious!”

“Well then,” Jessica said, “we should roll it in horse dung. We’ll roll it on the back so when he puts it on he won’t notice. He’ll walk around smelling and won’t know why.”

Martha bit her lip. Seeing this, Jessica was hard-pressed to hide her own grin.

“What if we paint a picture of a donkey’s tail on the back,” she said next. “His Klan buddies will start calling him,
jackass
.”

This time Martha didn’t withhold a faint chuckle. Jessica giggled right along with her.

“Such language, Miss Jessica!” Ruth chided from where she was kneading dough on the big wood block, but her lips twitched.

Encouraged, Jessica said, “We could loosen the seams so that when he bends over it splits up the back.”

“We could make da hood bigga so it don’t fit ’im,” Martha joined in. “When he put it on da eye holes’ll be ova his nose.”

The suggestions to mutilate the hated garment continued until all three of them were rolling. It was only fitting. Nevertheless, thinking of the nasty Klan reminded Jessica of something else. Martha was back to work hanging clothes on the indoor line and Ruth was kneading a second batch of dough when Jessica asked curiously, “Have either of you heard of the spook?”

Ruth’s hands instantly stilled. Martha’s arms lowered. They both looked at her, then at each other, and back to her again. Their expressions revealed their apprehension.

“You have heard of him, haven’t you?” Jessica said.

Both of them slowly nodded.

“Do you know who he is?” Jessica asked.

“Oh no, Miss Jessica,” Martha said, “We don’t know dat.”

Jessica sighed. “Well, whoever he is, I think he’s wonderful.”

“We’ve heard rumors about him,” Ruth offered.

“Tell me, Ruth. Please, both of you, come sit and tell me everything you’ve heard.”

For the next hour, Ruth and Martha relayed story after story of the spook and the people he helped escape the Klan’s wrath. Some of the tales involved terrifying pursuits and fires where the infamous man entered burning buildings. There were several incidents where the Klan fired guns at him. Regardless of the peril, the spook was not deterred. He rescued men, women and children right out from under the Klan’s noses. While she listened Jessica became more and more appalled by the violence. She’d always known the Klan did horrific things, but because her father and brother never discussed it in front of her, everything she learned had come from either the newspapers or her girlfriends’ gossip, neither of which were truly reliable sources. The details she heard from Martha and Ruth made it clear that what she surmised on her own didn’t come close to being accurate. Knowing these things only increased the fury she harbored toward Jon. It also raised her concerns for Trent. At the same time she was on the edge of her seat. Admiration for this brave character—this spook—rose in her breast to such an extent she was giddy inside from it. According to Martha and Ruth, in the last five months he’d saved twenty-four families. Counting spouses and children it equated to more than seventy people!

“Does anybody know what he looks like?” she asked. “Do you know?”

Martha jumped in quickly to answer this question. “Mind ya, Miss Jessica, we neva done seed ’im. Nobody has, far as we know ’cause he keeps his face covered up. But, we knows he be a white man. He a white man dressed up all in black. Dey say he even ride a big black horse. Dey say he be a Yankee. He talk like a Yankee.”

Reverend Nash immediately came to Jessica’s mind. Knowing the Klan suspected him of being the spook, she was infused with the need to see him, to warn him. She was so caught up in trying to figure out what she should do, she was startled when Ruth spoke.

“I know who he is,” Ruth said solemnly.

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.” Tears gathered in Ruth’s eyes as she said, “He was sent from Heaven. He is an Angel of Mercy. He is God’s Grace.”

Sunday morning, Jessica was relieved to find a note from Jon waiting for her in the dining room. It was identical to the one he left the week before. It said he would not attend church, but Herlin would drive her and pick her up if she wanted to go. She had hoped this would be the case, because it fit perfectly with the plan she already formulated. She was going to stay after the service and speak with Reverend Nash privately. She was going to tell him what the Klan suspected about him.

The first thing Jessica noticed upon arriving at the church was that one of the front windows in the parsonage was boarded up. This only solidified her determination to stay late and warn the reverend. This was also why she was even more insistent that Herlin not wait outside like he did the week before. Aside from it being his right to worship God, it was entirely too cold, and she didn’t know how long she would be.

Once they were inside the church, Jessica had another decision to make. Her father, brother and William Hughes were already seated in their usual pew. Rather than joining them, she squeezed in beside Herlin. They were in the last pew, along with Reverend Amos and the rest of his parishioners.

At the end of the service, as Reverend Nash passed her on his way to the chancel, he winked at her. Her plan to meet with him, however, was not to be. He said he had another appointment, but he would come by Bent Oak Manor on Monday. Jessica told him it would be better for her to see him at the parsonage.

By Monday afternoon she was so antsy she ended up dismissing her students early. Soon enough she and Jasmine were on their way. Reverend Nash answered her knock with a friendly smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said as he ushered her inside. He took her coat and told her to go in by the fire where it was warm. He would bring tea for them.

Finally, carrying a tray, Reverend Nash joined her. As he sat down on the sofa across from her he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you yesterday, but what you did in church was fantastic. The example you set will go far.”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t think so. People around here don’t like me very much. I didn’t think about it until later, but I am worried what I did will cause you more trouble.”

“People around here have a lot to learn. There’s nothing to worry about,” Sebastian said. “You are an inspiration.”

Bashfully, Jessica looked away.

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” he asked gently. “Don’t you realize how brave you are for doing what you did?”

Taken aback by his praise, Jessica said, “I’m not brave. If I were brave I would have stood up to Jon and stayed here two Sundays ago.”

Reverend Nash’s eyes narrowed. “You pick your battles, Jessica, and you pick them well. We must all remember accomplishing great things starts with tiny steps. You can’t win the war without losing a few battles.” He smirked and let out a sarcastic grunt. “That was a poor analogy, I suppose.”

In spite of the direness of her mission, Jessica couldn’t withhold her giggle.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he continued earnestly. “I see a very bright young woman who puts the concerns of others before her own. Despite her insecurities, she will do whatever she can to help those who are less fortunate. She will ignore her own needs to ensure the needs of those she cares about are met first. You are one of the most selfless people I have ever met. Those in this community who don’t know you, or who have not made an effort to get to know you, are the ones who have lost. You are a remarkable young lady.”

While he spoke, Jessica had to avert her eyes again. She had no idea how to reply.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, honey, but someone needs to tell you how wonderful you are,” he said. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about so badly yesterday?”

She took a deep breath. “I have come to warn you.”

A lopsided smile appeared on his face. “Warn me? Warn me about what?”

“The Klan. They’re not just mad at you for inviting colored people to church. They think you’re the spook and they intend to come after you again. I’m afraid they’ll do something worse than what they did to you already.”

Reverend Nash burst out laughing. “Who, me? The spook? Why in the world would they think I’m the spook?”

“Please, Reverend,” Jessica implored. “You must not think lightly of this. I overheard them talking. They know you have revolvers and you ride a black horse. They think you’re the spook. That’s why they came after you.”

Reverend Nash’s smile faded and he leaned forward. “Jessica, I can’t tell you how touched I am by your concern, but there is nothing to worry about. I will be fine.”

“I don’t want to see you hurt again. I am scared for you,” she said.

“They won’t hurt me.” He grinned. “Will it help if I promise to be careful?”

“I know the Klan broke your window. They won’t stop there. They will come back. I know what they’re like. They’ve been around since the war. They’re mean and they don’t care who they hurt, and they kill—” Jessica’s voice cut out. It was too difficult to say the words aloud. “Go away from here,” she pleaded. “Go where you’ll be safe. Ministers are needed everywhere. You can easily find work. There’s nothing to keep you here. You have no reason to stay.”

“On the contrary,” he murmured.

He stared at her so intently, Jessica was captured. She couldn’t break free, and she didn’t want to.

“I have a very good reason to stay,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

Twenty-eight men of the Sovereign Sons of the South all outfitted in their costumes and hoods, rode slowly down the dark road toward the home of a colored man known as Oz. The house where Oz resided had at one time belonged to a moderately well off white family. After the family abandoned it, Oz and several of the others who had been slaves there took over. They had no right to do so. To the Klan’s knowledge, there were three colored families living in the house. Oz was their known leader.

Luther rode beside his son-in-law. Soon enough the house came into view, and there was light in the windows. Seeing it, Luther remarked, “Someone’s home. Your plan to thwart the spook by saying days in code sure shocked the rest of the men, but it looks like it worked.”

“I hope so,” Jon said firmly. “I am past being ready for this.”

The Klan surrounded the house. To ensure no one escaped out the backdoor, several of them rode around to guard it. Others went to work setting up and lighting the cross. As soon as the flames spiraled upward, Luther nudged Jon. “Go ahead. It’s time.”

After that, Luther spurred his horse around and took up position next to Arnold Whistler. They were distant enough from the cross to prevent their horses from shying from the flames, but not too far away to easily observe the men. This night, they didn’t need to dismount. Their duty was solely to monitor.

“Come out, Oz!” Jon shouted.

The sounds of cries and scuffles from inside the house could be heard, but the colored man being summoned didn’t appear. Jon yelled for him again and this time it worked. Thankfully, Oz closed the door behind him, muting the obnoxious screams from inside.

“What do ya want wit me?” he demanded.

An insolent colored boy, he was, Luther thought, and a big one, too. Jon was going to have his hands full. But his son-in-law didn’t hesitate as he, along with four others, bombarded the man.

“For your crimes, you will hang by the neck until you’re dead,” Jon hollered loudly enough for the entire brethren to hear. Without further preamble, he laid a heavy blow to Oz’s gut. It was a good shot, one that was powerful enough to double him over. Luther glanced at Whistler and they nodded simultaneously.

With Jon in the lead, the Klansmen soon had the colored man well bloodied. He was on the ground with Jon’s knee jammed between his shoulder blades. One of the others yanked his arms above his head and tied them. At one point, Oz began to struggle, but Jon circumvented any problems quickly by slamming his forearm into the back of Oz’s neck. “Shut up, nigger!” he yelled.

In due time, Jon was handed another length of rope, which he used to swiftly encircle Oz’s neck. Next the slack from the rope from Oz’s wrists was tied off to Jon’s saddle. Then roughly, ignoring Oz’s cries, the men hoisted him to his feet.

Within moments, the Klansmen were on their way. As Jon picked up the pace, Oz stumbled. Eventually he fell, but Jon didn’t stop. He even picked up the pace somewhat, as that powerful horse of his dragged the colored man onward.

Luther would have preferred to string the man up right there in the yard in the light of the burning cross, but alas, this particular house didn’t have any sturdy enough trees close by. They had to travel a good quarter mile, veering off through a field to reach the woodland.

Once there, Jon and those assisting him, dismounted. Jon was the one of them who grabbed up the rope and tossed it over a thick tree limb. The colored man was heaving, begging them to spare his life.

As any good Klansman would, Jon hit him in the face to shut him up. “You deserve to hang, nigger!” he shouted. “Good riddance!”

That said, it didn’t take long for Jon and his companions to hoist the rope, until the bottoms of Oz’s feet—he’d apparently lost one of his shoes during the drag—were no longer touching the ground. Oz’s cries turned into guttural, choked gasps.

Hoops and cheers rang out through the crowd of men as they mounted and took off, leaving the criminal still seizing in the tree. Whistler caught up to Jon before he could gallop off with the rest of the pack. Luther wasn’t quite fast enough. From behind he heard Whistler say to Jon, “Congratulations! How do you feel?”

Triumphantly, Jon chortled, “Like a true Klansman! It’s about damn time!” With another excited hurrah, he kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and was swept up into the rest of the swarm of white-cloaked riders.

Whistler slowed until Luther was trotting along beside him. “That son-in-law of yours did a nice job,” he said.

Luther couldn’t have agreed more.

* * *

There!
From the distance, in the darkness, the tree limb looked like the arm of a giant, or a god, reaching outward. Dangling, like a charm on a bracelet around its wrist, was the body of a man.

Ignoring Buster’s protesting hee-haws, Herlin kicked his heels again and again into his horse’s flanks forcing the beast to move faster. How long the Klan’s victim had been hanging there, Herlin didn’t know. What he did know was the Klan lynched their victims without breaking their necks. The victims were left to suffer a slow and painful strangulation. Although the Klan’s methodology only added to their cruelty, it meant there was still a chance. As he drew closer, however, Herlin’s hopes withered. The silhouette hanging from the tree limb was as still as death.

Even so, Herlin didn’t slow. He was almost there, when, from the opposite direction, another dark figure cut through the night. The man on horseback was approaching so rapidly he was little more than a blur of black.

No matter how hard he pushed Buster, Herlin didn’t get to the tree before the spook did. Before Midnight came to a complete stop, the spook rose up from his saddle. He grabbed the rope above the victim’s head. Three hasty swipes of his knife split it, and the lynched man’s body fell hard to the ground.

Midnight spurted off, leaving Herlin with a view of the spook on his knees by the prone figure. In seconds the rope that had bound his throat was flung aside. In seconds the spook had the victim rolled to his back.

“Be alive!” the spook hissed as he yanked his kerchief down. “Be alive!” he hissed again as he jerked the victim’s head back and dropped down over him. At first Herlin thought the spook meant to listen or feel for the victim’s breath, but that wasn’t what he did.

Stunned speechless, Herlin jumped down from Buster. He knew the spook was a God-loving man, but to send the poor victim off on his heavenly journey with a farewell
kiss
seemed a little extreme. And not just one. Briefly the spook raised his head and kissed the victim again.

It took a third kiss, and closer view, for Herlin to realize what the spook was actually doing. He wasn’t kissing the dead man. He was breathing into his mouth. “Is he still alive, Major?” Herlin asked.

“I told you not to come here!” the spook barked, but he didn’t wait for a response before resuming his attentions to the victim. He blew several more times, raised his head and murmured, “Come on, man! Breathe! Come on!”

Herlin couldn’t pull his eyes away. The spook’s intense determination to save the victim was almost terrifying. His chest began to heave as he sucked in breath after breath to expel into the victim. But, no matter how tirelessly he worked, or how winded he became, the victim wasn’t rousing.

“I think it’s too late, Major,” Herlin offered quietly.

“It’s not too late!” the spook growled.

The spook was breathing heavily when finally he sat back on his heels. He muttered a fiercely angry curse, and then he just sat there with his head bowed and his eyes closed. He could have been simply trying to catch his breath, but Herlin was pretty sure he was praying.

It was then, in the silent stillness, that a funny gurgling began in the victim’s throat. The spook reacted instantly, grabbing the man by the shoulders to gently shake him. While the victim sputtered and gasped raggedly, the spook encouraged, “Wake up now. You’re okay. You’ll be okay now.”