Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (14 page)

“I can’t. I have to go,” Jon said, and he looked up. Their eyes met. All the anguish Sebastian had seen a moment before was gone. Jon’s expression was again an unaffected, blank void. “If you could spend some time with Jessica… she needs you now.”

“I will do everything I can for her. But what about you?”

“I’m fine,” Jon said.

“You’re not.” Sebastian raised a hand to Jon’s shoulder and pressed it.

Instantly Jon shrugged him off. “Don’t!”

“Jonny, you are allowed to grieve,” he said.

Jon shook his head, stared into Sebastian’s eyes and stated insipidly, “It’s my fault.”

Stunned, Sebastian asked, “Why do you say that? What makes you think that?”

“She saw me with Martha.”

“Oh,” Sebastian mouthed. “What will you do?”

“What can I do? What can I say?”

The helpless, repressed fury he heard in the other man’s voice caused Sebastian to cringe yet again. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “Let me get us coffee.”

“No. I have to go.”

“I think you should stay.” Sebastian took a step closer and raised his hand again. This time he intended to steer Jon further into the parlor, even push him, if he had to. “You need to—”

Jon roughly parried, and hissed, “Don’t you get it?”

“It’s not your fau—” Sebastian started.

“It is my fault! I killed him! I KILLED MY SON!”

There were very few times in his life Sebastian could remember being staggered to the point he could no longer move, let alone speak. This was one of them. He watched in horror as Jon spun around and strode off.

“No!” Sebastian shouted, and he began to run. The parsonage was a humble dwelling, the distance down the hallway wasn’t far. Jon had reached the door by the time Sebastian caught up. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Jon from behind, wrapping both arms around him.

“Let go of me!” Jon shouted, flailing.

“No!” Sebastian kept Jon trapped, cinching tighter in the wake of Jon’s frenetic attempts to break free. Jon’s strength, however, was no match for his, even compromised by injuries, and they both knew it.

“Get off of me!” Jon bellowed.

Unyielding, Sebastian said, “You can fight me all you want, but I’m not letting you go. This is not your fault, Jonny. It’s not, and I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

He held on, and on, until the other man’s struggles lessened, until his shouted protests became broken whispers, until his entire frame shuddered, and then sagged in defeat.

“I can’t… I can’t do this… I can’t… anymore,” Jon rasped. “Let me go. Please just let me go.”

Turning him around, catching his jaw and forcing him to look up until they were eye to eye, Sebastian said firmly, “Yes, you can! And you will!”

It took three weeks for Jessica to feel up to leaving her room. Physically she was better, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop weeping. All she could think about was her little baby, her tiny, lost son.

They’d buried him in the cemetery behind the church. Ruth told her the funeral was a small affair. Her father, Trent, Herlin and Ditter were there. Sebastian was, too. Ruth said he spoke kind, tender words for her baby’s soul. Jessica named him Evan, after her mother, but she didn’t tell anyone. The stone marker placed on his grave read simply, “Baby Boy Kinsley.” Jon, Ruth said, did not attend the funeral. He’d made no attempt to see her either. If he was still meeting with his Klan friends in the afternoons, he wasn’t doing it at Bent Oak Manor. The house was very quiet. She never heard so much as a creak coming from her husband’s bedroom. She never heard his footsteps. She never heard his voice.

Jon may not have wanted to visit her, but Sebastian did. He came at least a dozen times. Jessica felt terribly guilty that he made so many trips. As badly as she wanted to talk to him, the idea of sitting there, being able to do nothing but cry, kept her hidden. Every time he stopped by, she asked Ditter to tell him she was indisposed.

She received several notes from her father and two from Trent. They both were anxious to see her, too. This was why she finally decided to venture from her room. Through Ruth, she asked Herlin to deliver a message to let her father and brother know she would be glad to have their company. They were expected that very day.

Slowly, but methodically she washed and dressed and headed to the kitchen. There she found her students, all seated around the big kitchen table. Thanks to Ruth, Jessica knew the children were meeting in the kitchen every day to practice their reading and figures. Twelve-year-old Sadie was leading the class. In the beginning Sadie had struggled dreadfully, but with additional coaching she’d become one of the strongest students. Jessica was immeasurably proud of her, and even more so for taking charge.

“Miss Jesska’s here!” Jacob shrieked the moment he spotted her.

The next thing Jessica knew she was surrounded. They all wanted to hug her, and they all spoke at once, bombarding her with questions. They wanted to know if she was better, and when she would start teaching again. They wanted to know if she would read to them, and when she would play the piano for them. Little Willy wanted to know when she would give him more piano lessons. He had made up more pieces to play for her.

The grand reunion, however, was interrupted. Above the chatter, Ruth bellowed, “That’s enough now! Miss Jessica is here for breakfast, not for school.”

Jessica looked up. Ruth was there, and not far behind her was Martha. Herlin’s wife smiled tentatively, and Jessica managed to find one to return.

About a week after Jessica lost the baby, Martha came to see her. She stood there, in Jessica’s room, nervously wringing her hands. She started to stammer an apology, but Jessica interrupted her, “Please don’t, Martha. I know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your choice. I’m not upset with you.”

“Miss Jessica,” Martha stuttered, “it’s not what—”

Again Jessica cut her off. “Let’s not talk about it. Please.”

Tears welled in Martha’s eyes, and she murmured, “Please don’t tell Herlin. Please don’t tell no one.”

Martha’s reasons for the secrecy went without saying. She and Herlin needed their jobs. Without them they would be homeless. And if they were homeless, they would be unable to properly care for Willy. Undoubtedly Martha was also worried that if Herlin found out, he would do something drastic, something that would get him into a great deal of trouble. Martha was protecting her family and for that she couldn’t be blamed.

Even so, Jessica couldn’t help remembering that affectionate pat on Martha’s shoulder. She couldn’t help wondering if Martha didn’t sometimes enjoy Jon’s lovemaking. From her own experience she knew how gallant, and how sensual, he could be. If Martha was willing to put up with it, it couldn’t be that terrible.

These thoughts, of course, only increased Jessica’s hatred for her deceitful, adulterous husband. She’d found her engagement and wedding rings on top of her dresser. At first she was unable to touch them. Then, one day, in fury, she opened the connecting door and threw them blindly into his room.

She was glad he hadn’t come to see her. She was glad he kept his distance. Just picturing him in her mind made her feel sick to her stomach. She was sure a mere glimpse of him would cause her to vomit. Seeing him that devastating day—the day she awakened to discover her baby was gone—the contents of her stomach had almost come up.

She’d barely looked at him, but she remembered how unkempt he was. He was wearing trousers and a blousy white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, and several of the buttons by his collar were open. And there were stains, like dribbled coffee, all over him. His eyes were red with bloodshot, his hair was so disheveled it stood up in spikes, and the rough growth on his jaw made it evident he hadn’t shaved in days.

Jessica knew, because Ruth told her, that she was delirious for three days. Ruth said Jon never left her, but Jessica didn’t believe it. What she remembered in those barely coherent moments when she awakened, was being completely alone. She remembered once she thought Ruth was Maybell. The few times she did see Jon, she told him to get out.

So that she wouldn’t disturb the children’s lessons anymore than she had already, and because it was difficult being around Martha, Jessica ate her breakfast alone in the dining room. Afterwards she went to play the piano. At first she chose pieces she’d memorized long ago, pieces she knew so well she didn’t have to think while she played them. Allowing herself to become lost in the music was the best way to clear her mind, and it was comforting. She was still caught up, diligently working her way through one of the new scores Sebastian had given her at Christmas, when Ditter slipped in to announce her father and Trent’s arrival.

Jessica rose to greet them. In her father’s husky embrace, she felt like a little girl again, and her tears spilled over. He didn’t let her go until she was able to gather herself together. Trent held her close, too. The sympathetic sorrow in his expression almost brought her to tears again, but for once she was able to swallow them away.

Trent sat beside her on the sofa while their father settled into one of the wing chairs opposite. Jessica could feel their concern. She knew she didn’t look well. There were dark circles under her eyes and she was quite pale. To appease them, she said, “I am fine. Really, I am. Please tell me how you both are? How is the farm? I haven’t seen either of you for so long. Trent, how’s Emily?”

Trent shared a recent, rather funny adventure with Emily, and he promised to bring her for a visit. Luther talked about the farm and the soon-coming spring planting. They spoke of other mundane things, including some neighborhood gossip, that, a minute after hearing, Jessica couldn’t remember. Part of her wanted to ask about the Klan, but she just wasn’t sure how to broach it, and she wasn’t certain she could discuss it without becoming emotional. She decided it would be better to say nothing. She didn’t want to know about the awful things that were happening anyway. It was easier to be oblivious and pretend the stupid, awful Klan didn’t exist.

Her father and brother stayed for several hours, long enough to join her for lunch and then spend some more time drinking tea and eating crumpets in the parlor. Despite the overall melancholy, being in company lifted Jessica’s spirits. She was very glad they came. This, of course, made her realize how foolish she’d been to shut Sebastian out. Now she yearned to see him, because of all people, she knew he would be able to help fix this overwhelming sorrow she couldn’t control.

She was worried about him, too. She was worried about threats from the Klan, and she wondered how many times since she’d last seen him, he’d endangered his own life to rescue others.

Eventually, her father made excuses about paperwork needing his attention. At the front door, he embraced her briefly and kissed her cheek. “I love you, my girl. You take care of yourself.”

It wasn’t like her father to be so abrupt. She stared after him as he lumbered down the porch steps and climbed into the buggy. He was grieving, too, she realized. He and her mother had lost several children by miscarriage. There had been a stillborn boy, too. She could only imagine the painful memories her baby’s death brought back for him.

“Jessie?” Trent said.

He was still there, lingering on the porch.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now,” he said. “I quit the Klan.”

Jessica’s jaw fell, but she couldn’t have been more ecstatic. “Thank you, thank you! Oh, Trent! This makes me so happy!”

“I thought it would,” he said, smirking. “It was either this or I would have to come here dressed up in Pop’s old clothes and dance around like an idiot until you found your smile again.”

This was what she’d done when Trent came home from the war, in great pain and so terribly devastated. She did everything she could think of to provoke his laughter. He was so miserable it was near to impossible, but eventually she succeeded. One day, dressed in her father’s clothes with pillows stuffed in for added effect, she made him laugh.

Seeing the tears welling in her eyes yet again, Trent put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Do you remember what you said to me after I lost my arm? Golly, I was such a bear to you back then.”

Jessica shook her head.

“You said, ‘Trent, you can handle anything because you are strong and you have faith, and even though it might not feel like it right now, someday you will look back on these days and you will realize you are not less of a person because of what happened. You are more.’” He paused, waiting for Jessica to look at him. “I am very lucky to have such a wise little sister.”

Jessica swiped at her eyes.

“You see, your wisdom has helped me see things clearly yet again.” Trent smiled.

“What about Papa?” Jessica asked. “Has he quit the Klan, too? Will he?”

Trent shook his head. “Pop doesn’t participate as much as he used to, but he won’t quit. He is hell bent on discovering who the spook is.”

Alarmed, Jessica asked, “What will Papa do to him if he finds out?”

Trent shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s all he talks about, but the funny thing is he doesn’t seem to want retribution like he used to. It’s more like he’s just obsessed with knowing.”

Jessica let out the breath she was holding. “The spook is to be admired for what he’s doing. He is a great man.”

Trent smirked. “If I didn’t know better, Jessie, I would think you know who he is.”

Vehemently Jessica shook her head. “No, but I have a lot of respect for him. He should be commended for everything he’s done.”

“I don’t know about that—” Trent started to say.

“Aren’t you coming, Trent?” Luther bellowed from the buggy.

To Jessica, Trent said, “I will bring Emily by next week. Take care, Jessie.” Lightly he kissed the top of her head, and then he whispered, “You are more.”

* * *

The lifeless bodies of two colored men hung from a tree limb, and the Klan was long gone. Most of them, but not all. Four stayed behind. They’d dragged their last victim away. They beat her, trussed her and ripped her clothes from her body. Three of them were holding her down. One of them knelt between her legs. He was fumbling to lift his sheet and unfasten his trousers.

Barreling toward them, the spook didn’t hesitate. He took aim and fired. The body of the kneeling Klansman flew backward, landing sprawled between the woman’s feet. His eyes were open. Blood trickled from the small circle in the middle of his forehead. The spook fired again, this time maiming the one whose revolver was aimed at him. The man screamed as the rapport of another shot choked the night. This one didn’t come from the spook’s gun. The bullet was so close, he felt the wind of it whiz past his ear. He fired again. The body of the man who just shot at him dropped lifelessly.

“Do not move!” the spook shouted. He was fully visible to the two remaining Klansmen now. The one he grazed was scrambling for the gun he dropped. Controlling Midnight with his thighs, the spook secured a second revolver in his left hand. Their guns were likewise aimed at him. “Drop your weapons now!”

“Drop yours!” one of them roared.

“You have two choices,” the spook said. “Get on your horses and ride away, or take your chances and take a shot. Just remember, you might miss, and I guarantee I won’t.”

Midnight stepped sideways and the spook’s thighs on the animal tightened. His body turned in the saddle, but his aim didn’t falter. In the deadly silence, all that could be heard were the fearful whimpers of the woman. With his eyes darting between his two targets, the spook waited. He was close enough that unless the clowns were both very bad shots, he would be hit. He could only hope their aim would be askew enough that his wounds wouldn’t be instantly fatal. If he was going down, he was determined they would as well.

Finally, the injured Klansman lowered his revolver, holstered it and slowly raised his hands—one of them bloody—in surrender. “Let’s go,” he said to his companion. To the spook he hollered, “We know who you are. You may have won tonight, but we will bring you down!”