Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (7 page)

“For you,” the captain said as he brought his other hand out from behind his back. In it he held a small bouquet of daisies.

No one had ever given Jessica flowers before, and these were obviously handpicked! They were so bright and pretty. “Th…thank you,” she stammered as she took them from him. “I will put them in water. Please excuse me.”

In the kitchen Jessica inhaled and exhaled loudly. It was the first breath she drew since reaching the foot of the stairs. Quickly she located a vase, but it was almost impossible to arrange the flowers. Her hands shook too badly. After purposefully telling herself to relax, with the vase in hand, she went back to the foyer and her handsome gentleman caller.

He was still there, studying a still life painting hanging on the wall. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned and flashed that slightly crooked, disarming smile.

Averting her eyes, Jessica set the daisies on a table. “Thank you again for the flowers,” she said.

“They reminded me of you,” he said smoothly. “So sweet and charming.”

Daringly Jessica glanced at him. Her father paid her compliments frequently, and Trent did, too, although his were few and far between. She knew her father and brother cared for her, but they were family. The captain was a stranger. It was hard to believe any stranger would think so much of her.

“It’s a beautiful day,” he said. “Would you care to take a walk with me? I noticed you have a garden on the west side of your house.”

Jessica nodded. Following the captain’s lead, she slowly walked by his side, across the lawn to the archway and then onto the white stone path that meandered through the many plants and bushes. Now that the summer annuals were filling in, her garden was coming along nicely. Taking care of it was one chore that brought her a great deal of delight. When the captain asked, Jessica admitted she did the tending. It felt good, too, to have someone praise her efforts. While they strolled along, in addition to his compliments, the captain asked her the names of the different flowers. She could easily respond to him, and speaking of the flowers prevented the awkward silence she had anticipated. Her gratitude for this, she owed entirely to Maybell. Maybell had taught her, not just about gardening, but about so many, many things.

So far so good
, Jessica thought. They were nearing a small stone bench. On either side of it were two rounded bushes filled with yellow blossoms.

“I like this one,” the captain said, pointing to one of the bushes. “What’s it called?”

Jessica’s mind went blank. In sheer mortification, she stammered, “I… I can’t remember.”

The captain laughed, and he said, “I am impressed, Miss Emerson. I enjoy gardens, and yours is especially lovely, but if you were asking
me
to name any of the flowers, I would fail miserably.” Gesturing to the bench, he said, “Would you like to sit and talk for a while?”

As any gentleman would do, he waited until she was seated before following suit. But the bench was too small! Jessica gulped. He was so close her skirt touched the entire length of his leg!

“Besides gardening what do you like to do?” he asked.

Jessica studied her fingers, folding and unfolding on her lap. The only things she could think of were her chores, and speaking of those would be terribly gauche. With nothing else to say, she merely shook her head.

“You must have some hobbies you enjoy?” he prompted. “What do you do in your spare time?”

“I like to read,” she managed.

“Oh? What do you like to read?”

“Anything, really.”

“Hmm,” he murmured.

They fell into silence—the awful, cumbersome silence Jessica was afraid would prevail. Several times she felt his eyes on her, but she couldn’t look back. The whole situation, second by dragging second, was becoming acutely painful. She grew even more appalled with herself when she felt the burn of tears. The only thing she could do was swallow over them and hope her eyes wouldn’t fill, or worse, spill over.

They sat together for more than an hour. Periodically the captain asked a question. Jessica answered him, but there was no decent dialogue between them. Eventually, he said, “I should be going.”

At Jessica’s nod, he stood up. Together they walked back to the house. There, he took her hand, kissed the back of it and said, “Thank you for the pleasant afternoon, Miss Emerson.”

From the front porch, Jessica watched him go to his horse, mount and ride away. Although she wished he would look back, he didn’t.

At dinner that evening, while they were passing the serving plates, her father broached the dreaded topic. All afternoon Jessica avoided both her father and her brother, but there was no way to keep doing so, not with the three of them seated together at the table.

“I’m on pins and needles, Jessie. Aren’t you going to tell us how your visit with Captain Kinsley went?” her father asked.

Pretending her attention was on the green beans she dished onto her plate, Jessica shook her head. But her father knew her too well. He picked up on her tremulous upset right away. His concern was evident in his sorrowful smile.

“Come now,” he said gently. “There must be something to tell. I saw you through the window sitting in the garden together. What did you talk about?”

Jessica set the serving dish down with a thump, picked up her fork, stabbed it into a green bean and shoved it into her mouth. When she looked up, Trent was staring at her with his eyebrows halfway to his hair line.

“There’s nothing to tell,” she said. “I’m sure he thinks I’m the dumbest girl he’s ever met. Trent, you won’t have to worry anymore. There is no chance he will ever call on me again.”

“Did he say unkind things? Was he rude?” her father asked.

“No. He was a perfect gentleman. I’m the one who ruined it. We should cancel the orders for the dresses.”

Her father put his hand over hers and squeezed her slender fingers tenderly between his big ones. “Jessie, I don’t believe that for a minute. You are a very bright, intelligent, beautiful girl. If Captain Kinsley doesn’t see that, then it’s his loss.”

“But you like him because he is rich!” she cried. “I’ve ruined everything!”

“No, my girl,” her father said. “You misunderstood me. Rich or poor, all that matters to me is your happiness. You have ruined nothing. You couldn’t possibly.”

The tears she’d been holding at bay gathered in her eyes. “Why do I have to be so shy? Why do I have to be so boring? Why can’t I ever think of anything to say?”

Her father dug his handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to dab tenderly under her eyes. “You are
not
boring, dearest, not in the slightest. So what if you’re a little bashful? There’s nothing wrong with that. Once people get to know you, they realize how wonderful you are.”

“Well, it’s over now,” Jessica said. “There’s nothing more to be done. No man will ever want to court me, or marry me, because he won’t have the patience to get to know me. I think, Papa, you will be stuck with me forever.”

“You and me both, Jessie,” Trent broke in. “We’ll be a happy family together. Just the three of us—you, me and Pop—for as long as God intends it.” Smiling wryly, he added, “You don’t really want to be courted by high and mighty Captain Smug anyway.”

The man in black bided his time atop Midnight on the bluff overlooking the Emerson farm. As he’d done every night for the last three weeks, he waited to see if Luther Emerson would emerge from the back of the house. This night, he wasn’t disappointed. He was, however, surprised to see Trent Emerson come out after him. Trent hadn’t accompanied his father since the Klan’s foiled attack on Joshua.

Moments later, the Emersons were riding side by side down the lane away from their farm. The direction wasn’t one they usually took, which meant they weren’t heading to the abandoned barn, the Klan’s normal haunt. Leaving enough distance to prevent them from hearing his trail, the man in black followed.

They traveled for several miles before arriving at a larger, brick house set not far back from the main road. Maintaining his distance, the man in black left the path and rode through a field to a copse of trees a hundred feet or so from the house. Hidden between the thick trunks, he dismounted and secured Midnight’s reins. “Stay here, boy. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he whispered.

From there he jogged to the house, not slowing his pace until he was close enough to see inside through the lighted windows. Stealthily crouching, he approached the window to a room where several men were gathered. He counted nine, six of whom he recognized. Luther and Trent Emerson were among them. The summer heat was to the man in black’s advantage. The window was propped open. Lowered to his haunches with his back against the wall of the house, he could hear them clearly.

One of the men was heatedly complaining, “…reported it several times, but the sheriff will do nothing!”

“Don’t worry Bill,” someone replied. “It’s in our hands now. We’ll take care of everything.”

Another said, “Tomorrow night, after the rally, I’ll speak with Hughes. I’m sure he’ll agree we can’t let this wait any longer.”

“Does anyone know where he lives?” someone asked.

“Shanty Town, I believe,” was the response.

“We can’t raid Shanty Town. It’s too dangerous.” This voice belonged to Luther Emerson. “We’ll have to catch him while he’s out. Someone will have to keep an eye on him to figure out his routine. Any volunteers?”

“I’ll do it.” It had been a while since the man in black heard Trent speak, but he knew him immediately.

Their meeting continued for some time. Most of what they talked about was gossipy nonsense, but the man in black did learn the names of four intended victims. As soon as they began to exchange farewells, silently he crept away, returning to the obedient Midnight. Once mounted, he raced away. It wasn’t necessary for him to trail Luther and Trent any longer. It was too late. They would be going home.

After putting plenty of distance between himself and them, the man in black set a more leisurely pace and turned in the direction of Bent Oak Manor. As he rode along, he thought bemusedly, they didn’t talk much about him tonight. In the few meetings he’d been able to eavesdrop upon, he’d been the main topic. They were still unsure whether he was one man or several, but they had decided he, or the group of him, was colored. Their fiery presumptions amused him. Thus far, he’d foiled three of their raids. Since the last, they’d been strangely inactive. They were afraid of him, and that was good. But their fear wouldn’t keep them down for long. Judging by what he heard tonight, they were getting restless, and that was not good.

Keeping to the road, he rounded the immense front lawn of the manor. Past it, he veered off to the right, toward the creek that marked the western border of the property. From there he followed the shallow water until he spied the marked oak. Turning east, he came upon three small shed-like structures. There were seven others just like them, but the seven were farther down the property line over the crest of a hill and couldn’t be seen from the three. At one time the slaves at Bent Oak Manor had resided in these horrid, one-room dwellings. In the last ten years or so, while they were uninhabited, the elements had taken a toll leaving them all the more decrepit. But now, people were living in them again.

The family in the first cabin consisted of a colored man named Herlin Jefferson, his wife, Martha, and their seven-year-old son, Willy. After securing Midnight’s reins to an old tree stump, the man in black approached the rickety looking building, and rapped lightly.

Herlin Jefferson swung the door wide. Briefly, as if sizing him up, Herlin’s eyes traveled the length of the man in black, from his leather riding boots and belted trousers, to the long-sleeved, silk shirt, two buttons of which he’d left open at his collar. The kerchief he used to cover his hair was still in place, from low on his forehead to where it was tied at the back of his neck. His second kerchief, the one he used to cover the bottom half of his face was hanging loosely at his throat. When their eyes met, Herlin grinned. The man in black grinned back.

Herlin was a well built, good looking man, with intelligent, deep brown eyes. Although shorter than the man in black by several inches, his shoulders were broader and his muscles more pronounced. For once, his neatly clipped, tight black hair wasn’t covered by his signature red cap.

The little bit of history the man in black knew of Herlin was that he’d been born a slave and spent the early years of his life working the cotton fields of North Carolina. He was twenty years old when his owner deemed him a menace and sold him to a tobacco plantation owner in Northern Virginia. It was there that he met his wife, Martha, also a slave but in the coveted position of housemaid. All too soon, Herlin and Martha jumped over the broom. Their owner, however, wouldn’t allow them to live as husband and wife.

Shortly after the war began, with the help of the Underground Railroad, Herlin ran away, leaving Martha with a promise and a prayer that someday he would return for her. Midway through the war, the plantation where Martha waited was ravaged and abandoned. The slaves, left to fend for themselves, eventually traveled to nearby Washington, D.C., where they hoped to find food and shelter. It was there that Martha and Herlin were reunited.

At the time Herlin was employed as an errand boy for the lobbyist, Frederick Washington. Over the next several years, while Herlin went to work every day, Martha went to school. In the evenings, in their small apartment, by candle light, Martha passed along everything she learned to Herlin. By the time Willy was born, Herlin was working for Frederick Washington in an entirely different capacity.

“You’re late,” Herlin said. “Did you have trouble?”

“No, no trouble,” the man in black told him. “Just another meeting. I didn’t think they’d ever shut up.”

Herlin chuckled. “Come on in and tell me about it. I sent Martha and Willy over to Ditter’s. Martha made us coffee before she left.”

Although from the outside Herlin’s cabin appeared to be in bad shape, the interior was not. The walls and ceiling were covered with new boards, plastered to hold up against the weather, and whitewashed. Fresh boards also hid what used to be a dirt floor. A decent-sized fireplace took up most of the rear wall. To the left of it, three bed rolls were neatly stacked. Against the wall to the right was a cabinet to hold food supplies and dishes. A small square table, barely big enough for the family to sit around, stood in front of it. The lantern on the table gave off enough light to brighten the entire space. The man in black settled into one of the three spindly chairs and waited for Herlin to pour their coffee and join him.

It didn’t take long for the man in black to give Herlin a full accounting of what he overheard. Their dialogue continued as Herlin relayed what he knew about each of the Klan’s intended victims. The last man they spoke of was Carl Robbins. He was also the one the man in black was the most concerned about.

“I have seen him,” Herlin said, “but I haven’t met him. He’s popular in the colored community here.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” the man in black said. “We need more information. Where he lives, where he works. Does he have any family, immediate as well as extended? We need the names of everyone who participates in his ministries and his most loyal followers.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find out,” Herlin said.

“I know you will.” The man in black smiled. “I better get going. It’s well past Willy’s bedtime. Now that Martha and Willy are here, let’s meet at the creek under the oak. I don’t like putting them out. I’ll swing by again tomorrow night.”

Herlin nodded. “Sounds good.”

“And please tell Martha thanks for the coffee.” The man in black rose and took two short steps to the door. There, with his hand on the latch, he turned back to Herlin and asked, “Are you sure you’re okay here? Is Willy okay?”

Herlin shrugged. “It’s cramped, but we’ll be alright. Believe it or not, Willy likes it. He thinks sleeping on the floor is fun.”

The man in black chuckled. “Willy will be disappointed. Your beds will be delivered tomorrow.”

“I know,” Herlin tittered. “I didn’t tell Martha yet. I thought I would surprise her.”

Grinning, the man in black said, “Martha’s a great lady. You’re a very lucky man.”

Herlin’s eyes flashed. “Don’t I know it. I’m glad she’s with me again. I’ve missed her these last couple months.”

“I’m sure you have.” As their lightheartedness faded, the man in black said seriously, “Herlin, you let me know if you need anything. For
any
of you. Okay?”

“Will do.”

Dryly, the man in black added, “It’s bad enough you have to put up with that ass, Kinsley.”

“Ain’t it, though,” Herlin drawled.

The man in black chuckled. “Good night, Herlin.”

“Good night, Major.”

* * *

To Jessica’s astonishment, Captain Jonathan Kinsley did call upon her again. He came to the house and spoke with her father in the study for a long time. When finally they emerged, laughing and shaking hands, Jessica was waiting for them. This time, the flowers the captain handed her were lilies. Her father winked at her. She was certain the captain’s visit had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her father’s powers of persuasion.

Even so, the captain’s attentions didn’t stop there. In the weeks that followed, he came by often and spent a great deal of time with her father. Nevertheless, once Jessica and he were alone together afterward, he told her his purpose in coming was not to see Luther.
She
was his sole reason for being there.

Throughout all of his visits, they either sat together in the garden, or on the two times it rained, on the front porch. Like the first visit, lingering silences overwhelmed their conversation, most of which revolved around the weather and farming. Occasionally the captain spoke of the horses he was breeding and training. He seemed to enjoy talking about them. Every time, before he left, he asked if he could see her again, and every time Jessica was stunned.

While her attraction to him was growing, her nervousness around him remained. If anything, it was worse, and for this she blamed Trent. Her brother’s annoyed expressions made it obvious he was not pleased with the captain’s continued interest. He had no qualms about voicing his disparaging opinions either. Jessica tried to discern for herself, from the captain’s mannerisms and from the things he said, whether Trent’s comments were warranted, but she could find nothing wrong with him. In her presence, he was always a perfect gentleman. Every night she prayed fervently that she would stop feeling sick before he arrived, that she wouldn’t jump when he knocked on the door, and someday soon, while in his company she might find her voice.

Four weeks to the day of her first meeting with the captain at the Winston’s ball, Jessica found herself again seated beside him in the garden. It was the twelfth time he had called upon her, and this particular visit wasn’t starting off any better than the others. The horrible, awkward silence overrode everything. It was up to the captain to break it. Eventually, as always, he did.

“Miss Emerson,” he said, “we have been meeting like this for some time. I think you are one of the prettiest women I have ever known.”

Jessica glanced at him anticipating the
but
she knew was coming. She expected him to say, ‘But you never speak’, or ‘But this isn’t going to work. I’m bored out of my mind.’

She was utterly floored when he said, “I would like to get to know you better. I would like to see you more often. But…”

Her heart stopped beating.

“Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t like me very much. I get the feeling you would rather I not visit with you.”

Appalled, Jessica stammered, “No… no. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”

She wasn’t looking at his face because she couldn’t bring herself to do that, but she could see his expression peripherally. He smiled, showing off his dimples, and he said, “That’s a relief.” As his smile faded, he asked, “Do I make you nervous?”

How in the world could she answer that question? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his arm move, reaching toward her. With the tips of his fingers he gently touched her chin and guided her head so that she was looking at him. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

The whisper of his fingers against her skin made her tingle. She tried very hard not to look away. “Th… thank you, Captain.”

“Please call me Jon.”