Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (19 page)

“Kinsley,” Stone stopped him. “Do you remember the Bible story of Abraham? He had his beloved son Isaac tied to an altar. He had the knife in hand ready to strike the death blow. But it was only a test.”

“Yes,” Jon replied, “I know the story.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Jon went through the door. As he pulled it closed behind him, he heard Stone say to Harry, “We were just talking about grace… God’s Grace…”

* * *

The spook raced toward the Crescent River Bridge. He could hear the Klansmen whooping and hollering in the distance. He crossed over, and turned abruptly at the edge. From there, he drove Midnight as far down the embankment as the horse could go before the brambles and bushes became too thick. On foot, using his knife, ripping through vines and foliage, sliding through the mud, the spook hastily made his way down the remainder of steep slope. From there, he stumbled out into the shallow, rock-infested creek bed and fell to his knees by the body that had been dropped there from the high bridge above.

Moonlight reflected off the young girl’s ravaged caramel flesh and shone on the smears of her blood. The spook didn’t need to check for a pulse or to feel for breath. Her eyes were open, staring sightlessly at the stars overhead.

As gently as he could, he wrapped his cloak around her. In lifting her into his arm, he felt the dislocation of her bones. For a moment, he saw her in his mind, and he saw them. He had to lay her back down. He had to turn away and cover his mouth to keep from retching.

He picked her up and reverently carried her, as if she was the most treasured of women. With her cradled in his arms, he fought his way up the steep bank, ignoring the brambles that tore at his clothes, ignoring the scratches of thorns and branches that cut through to his skin.

* * *

Herlin yanked open the door of the cabin the instant he heard the booted knock. He took one look at the spook and all the questions he wanted to ask caught in his throat. The bloody, black-draped body in the spook’s arms told him all he needed to know.

The older, colored man who was with Herlin, rose to his feet. Tears welled in his eyes as the spook carefully laid his daughter’s battered, lifeless body in his arms. He dropped into a chair and buried his face in the black cloak. His anguish came over him in wave upon wave.

Herlin followed the spook out of the shack and closed the door behind him. Outside they could still hear Marcus Bentley’s sobs. “I have to go back for his wife.” The spook said. The brief shake of his head told Herlin the older woman’s fate.

The spook moved toward his horse, but he didn’t mount right away. There were tears and rips in the shirt he was wearing. There was plenty of smeared blood on it, too. Herlin assumed the spook was going to get his black silk shirt out from its secret compartment in the saddle. He assumed the spook would change. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring off into the distance.

Because he didn’t know what else to do, Herlin reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved the two black kerchiefs he’d stashed. He’d found them in the shack earlier. Holding them out, he murmured, “You forgot these.”

The spook ignored the kerchiefs. Instead he threw his hands up and raged, “What were they doing out there? God damn it! What the hell were they doing out there?”

His frenetic frustration was so severe, Herlin jolted. Timidly he murmured, “They apparently went back for some clothes.”

The spook repeated, “I have to get his wife.”

And he was gone, disappearing into the darkness of night. But he didn’t disappear. Herlin could still see him. He could see that snagged, bloody shirt in the moonlight. It was like a white glowing ball, slowly becoming smaller and smaller.

Only then did Herlin look down at the kerchiefs still in his hand. It was the first time Herlin could remember the spook going to aid a Klan victim not dressed in his concealing attire.

He recalled, back when all of this began, how anxious he’d been about the Klansmen’s guns. The major had said to him, “You worry too much, Herlin. If they can’t see me, they won’t hit me.”

* * *

Jessica had made a decision, one that was long overdue. In her room, she paraded back and forth, all the while, rehearsing what she would say. For the last two weeks, ever since Herlin had been- so badly beaten, she’d been deliberating.

She’d gone through the motions of the day, teaching the children, assisting Ruth and Martha with chores, playing the piano, planting flowers in the garden, taking rides on Jasmine, but she couldn’t get past the manner of Sebastian’s death. She couldn’t get past knowing Jon was responsible. Anytime she tried to read, all she could think of was Sebastian lounging on his couch surrounded by his books. She could still hear his voice, praising her for her bravery. She could still feel the faint brush of his lips over hers.

These memories weren’t the only ones driving her. She heard Emily’s voice, too. It was a constant reminder, ‘If you’re miserable, you shouldn’t stay here.’ Trent had said as much, too. They were both right.

Her plan, of course, was much more detailed than simply running away. She was going to ensure the servants were safe, that they had homes and jobs to sustain them.

She heard Jon come in and go to his study. Still she paced. How many times she wiped her clammy hands on her skirt she didn’t know. What she did know was she couldn’t put this off any longer. Too many lives were being destroyed because of her husband, and she’d wasted enough time making excuses.

What would befall him was his own fault, and no less than he deserved. His callous brutality and disregard for others demanded it. Tonight she would begin by putting step one of her plan into play. In the end, if she succeeded, if she carried through with all five steps of her elaborate intentions, within a week, Captain Jonathan Kinsley’s entire empire—his home, his horses, everything he cared about—would be gone.

As she descended the stairs she reminded herself again to remain calm and not raise her voice. She’d already imagined every possible reaction he could have. The blackmailing—step one—would, no doubt, infuriate him. Nevertheless, no matter what he said or did, she needed to appear unaffected. And if he became violent it would only further solidify her determination to follow through to the bitter end.

Jessica had no intention of knocking on the study door. She’d already decided it would be better to barge in and catch him unaware. Outside she took one last deep breath. It was now or never. She grabbed the knob, turned it and pushed.

She expected Jon to be at his desk, but he wasn’t. Only one lamp—a desk lamp—was lit. Because of the size of the room, most of it was in shadows. Squinting into the darkness, she scanned every corner, or at least she thought she did. She didn’t see Jon at all.

“G-go… away, Di…Ditter.” The barely audible, raspy, broken words spun her.

He was there after all, but little more than a barely distinguishable outline in the darkness. The only thing she could really see of him was the white shirt he wore. Like a glowing beacon, it drew her.

He was seated on the very edge of the couch, facing the window, with his back to her. She tiptoed over and approached diagonally. From that angle she saw his elbows were propped on his knees and his head was in his hands.

“Dit-ter, leave… me a-alone… please…”

In an instant all of Jessica’s plans immobilized. What she was seeing couldn’t possibly be what she thought it was. Most likely his knee was bothering him. The ruthless, deceitful Jon Kinsley would never… cry.

“It’s not Ditter. It’s Jessica,” she said rigidly.

His head shot up and his back stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. “Leave.”

“What’s wrong with you?” She took another step toward him until she was near enough she could have reached over the couch and touched him. Her eyes bored into the back of his head, waiting for him to move, but he didn’t.

His refusal to turn to face her confirmed, even as a part of her wanted to deny it, her first assumption. It left her utterly speechless. Her next attempt to see his face was by his reflection in the window, but his features weren’t clear.

“Leave!” The word was a ragged breath, pulled from the bottom of his lungs.

Jessica’s heart leapt. “No. I need to talk to you.”

If he was upset because he’d finally come to realize what he did to Herlin was wrong, what he was doing to Martha was wrong, the crimes he was committing with the Klan were wrong, could she find the slightest bit of compassion for him. Even as she had this thought, she dismissed it. Whatever was causing this state in Jon Kinsley, it wouldn’t be any of those things. And it certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with her.

“Not now,” he growled.

“Turn around and look at me, you coward!” The heated words came out of her before she remembered she’d promised herself she wouldn’t raise her voice. She half expected him to get up and charge at her.

He didn’t. He didn’t move at all. The silence lingered. His freakish behavior and the eerie, dark atmosphere, left her fighting the desire to run from the room. “Well?” she prompted.

“Leave me!”

His hard, gravelly tone made her flinch. “I need to discuss—”

“I said leave me!”

Jessica jolted but recovered quickly. “I plan on it,” she snapped. “After tomorrow, you will never see me again!” She didn’t wait for him to turn around. She fled, slamming the door behind her.

And there, in the foyer, she almost ran head first into Ditter. He was carrying a small tray with a full, steaming cup of coffee on it. He seemed just as startled to see her as she was to see him. At this hour of night Ditter should have been home and in bed, not working. Too flustered to think of anything else to say, Jessica murmured, “Good night, Ditter.”

“Good night,” he said.

He didn’t go into the study right away. Jessica could feel him watching her as she made her way up the stairs. She was almost at the top when she heard the latch of the study door click. She glanced over her balcony railing. Ditter disappeared into the study and she heard him say, “I’m sorry that took so long. Ruth is much faster at making coffee than I am.” Then, as if talking to himself, he mused, “Hmm, you were just here. Where did you go?”

Ditter’s light, friendly tone, had Jessica transfixed. She heard the scrape of the tray being set down on a table. She heard him move farther into the room, and she heard his sudden distressed, “Oh no, no…”

After that, she could have sworn Ditter familiarly addressed her husband, not just as ‘Jon’, but as ‘Jonny.’

The only explanation, of course, was that she misheard him. He said more, but his voice was too low for her to make any of it out. The next thing she knew he returned to the door and closed it from the inside.

The morning came bright and warm. Had Jessica not been so troubled over losing her temper and failing to carry out step one of her plan, she would have relished the beautiful day. As it was, she rose much earlier than normal. It wasn’t long before she made her way to the kitchen. Ruth and Martha were already there, beginning their daily chores. Within a few minutes Ruth set a plate full of eggs, toast and sliced peaches in front of her.

It was succulent fare, but Jessica couldn’t bring herself to do more than pick at it. She was still picking when Herlin came waltzing in as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His apparent good spirits didn’t change until he noticed her. The moment he did his smile faded and his exuberance melted away. Somberly he said, “Good mornin’, Miss Jessica.”

He went to Martha, kissed her cheek and spoke quietly, as if he intended his words for her ears alone. “We’re goin’ to ride instead of takin’ the carriage. We should be back tonight, pretty late, but we’ll be back.” To Ruth he said, “Is Ditter ready?”

Ruth nodded. “He should be along in a minute. He had to run back to the cabin for something.”

The words were barely out of Ruth’s mouth, when to Jessica’s horror, Jon pushed through the kitchen door. He stopped abruptly when he saw her, but his attention was redirected by Herlin, who said, “The horses are ready to go.”

Jon nodded briefly to Herlin. Then rather than leaving, he moved toward the kitchen table. He was staring at her so fixedly and his voice was so low she almost didn’t recognize it. “May I speak with you?”

Jessica stood up. “Don’t come near me!”

He glanced at Herlin, Martha and Ruth. Then, much to Jessica’s consternation, all three of them shuffled out the door, leaving her alone with her wicked spouse. Although fear rifled through her, she recognized there was no malice in Jon’s demeanor. If anything, he was humble and resigned. It didn’t escape her notice that the skin around his eyes was slightly swollen.

“You said you wanted to talk to me,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t… I couldn’t give you my attention last night. I have to leave for Nashville right away. Herlin and Ditter are coming with me. We will be back this evening, but probably not until after dark. I would like to speak with you then.”

“I won’t be here,” Jessica snarled. It was a lie, but she could tell by the way he briefly closed his eyes it upset him, and she was glad.

“Will you wait just one more day? Please, just give me one more day.”

“No!”

Herlin stuck his head in the kitchen door. “I’m sorry ta interrupt, but we’ll be late if we don’t leave now.”

Jon didn’t acknowledge Herlin. His attention remained on Jessica. “Please. I will come back as quickly as I can. Please, Jessica. If you stay just for tonight, I—” He cut himself off. “If you will stay just for tonight, if you will listen to what I have to say, I will support whatever decision you make. I will take you wherever you want to go.”

Jessica had never heard him sound so desperate. Even so, she scoffed, “Why should I believe you?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

This whole dialogue was too bizarre. Jessica didn’t know what to think.

Once more he implored, “Please, Jessica. Please.”

“What is so important?” she asked.

“I will tell you tonight,” he said. “If you stay, if you wait for me—”
He cut himself off again. “I have to go. Please wait for me.”

She didn’t want to give in. She wanted him to believe she wouldn’t be there, but for some reason, perhaps because of his strange meekness, she couldn’t keep up the lie. “I’ll wait,” she said, “but just for tonight. Tomorrow I am leaving and you won’t stop me.”

He expelled a breath. “I will be back as soon as I can.” For a long moment he said nothing. He just gazed at her, as if he couldn’t bear to look away, and then so quietly she could barely hear him, he murmured, “I will always love you, Jess.”

“I will always hate you!”

He had no visible reaction. His blank expression didn’t change. He said, “Yes, I know,” and he strode out the door.

* * *

Trent arrived at Bent Oak Manor, but his timing wasn’t optimal. Jessica was busy with Willy at the piano, and she wasn’t quite ready to dismiss him. To finish off his lesson she asked him to play one of his pieces for her brother. “Trent would love to hear it,” she coaxed and she joined Trent on the sofa so they could both enjoy Willy’s performance.

When he was done they clapped and Trent bellowed, “Bravo!”

“That was wonderful!” Jessica told Willy. “Now you must take a bow.”

He did it, but his reluctance showed through. “Can I go now, Miss Jesska?” he asked.

It was hard not to laugh. He was such a sweet little boy. “Yes, you may.”

“Thank you, Willy,” Trent hollered after him. “I enjoyed your piece very much.”

With Willy gone, Jessica turned to her brother. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I’ve been worried about you,” Trent said. “I want to make sure you’re alright.”

She told him she was fine, and then for a few minutes they talked casually. She could tell, however, that Trent was itching to get to something specific. It wasn’t long before he did.

“Does the name Stonington mean anything to you?” he asked.

Jessica shook her head. “No, why?”

Trent’s eyes narrowed. “Nathanial Stonington?”

Jessica shook her head again.

“Humph,” Trent frowned. “He’s the leader of the Sons. The Imperial Wizard.”

“Oh!” Jessica stared at her brother. “Why are you asking me about him?”

“I don’t really know. I thought—” His voice trailed off and he appeared confused. “The spook told me to tell you that.”

“The spook?” Jessica startled. “But the spook is—”

“No,” Trent said wryly. “He’s not dead. He came to the farm. I saw him with my own eyes.”

“Sebastian…?” Jessica said expectantly.

“I don’t know. I thought he was Nash. He sounded like Nash. But then I wasn’t sure. He could be someone else.”

Jessica’s heart began to pound. “If he’s not Sebastian, then who is he?”

Trent shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he ask you to tell me the Imperial Wizard’s name?”

“I don’t know,” Trent said. “Never mind, I guess.”

“When did he tell you? When did you see him?” Jessica could barely breathe.

“He appeared out of nowhere when I was plowing the fields last week. He wanted to know Stone’s real name, but I didn’t know it. It took me a week of digging to get it. Of all people, I finally got it out of Harry Simpson. Can you believe that?”

Jessica didn’t want to think about Harry Simpson. Instead she asked quietly, “Is Papa still so involved with the Klan? Is he getting out?”

“I’ve tried, Jessie. But no. Pop won’t quit, no matter how much I harp at him. He doesn’t want to listen to me. You should talk to him. You’re the one with great powers of persuasion.”

“I will try,” Jessica murmured. Her mind, however, was preoccupied and racing. “Do you think the spook you saw is another man pretending to be Sebastian?”

“I really don’t know,” Trent said. “But he knew things, Jessie. He knew you’re my sister. He knew you’re married to Kinsley. I don’t know who else but Nash would know those things.”

The idea that Sebastian might still be alive infused Jessica’s heart with wrenching hope unlike she’d ever felt before. But, becoming demonstrative over Sebastian was something she needed to do privately. Changing the subject, because she didn’t know what else to do, she said, “It is rather funny that you came here today because I was going to send a note asking you to come by.”

“Why?”

“Because…” she said hesitantly. She wanted to tell Trent of her plans, but she needed to tread carefully. She couldn’t tell him everything. Not just yet. “I want to leave this place. I want to leave Jon. I want to come home to the farm.”

“Good!” Trent said resolutely. “I want you to come home. This is no place for you. Not with that scoundrel you married.” Grinning to soften his harshness, Trent added, “Besides, Pop and I need you.”

This was too serious a topic to make jokes. “There will be scandal. I don’t want to cause problems for Papa or for you.”

“You know I could care less about that stuff,” Trent said.

“Yes, but what about Emily? What if Emily’s father cancels the engagement because of it?”

A lopsided smirk appeared on Trent’s face. “If that happens, Emily and I will create an even bigger scandal and elope.”

Under any other circumstances, Jessica would have laughed, but the gravity of her concerns prevented it. She didn’t say anything.

“Let me run home and return with the buggy,” Trent said, “We can have you packed and out of here—”

“No, no,” Jessica interrupted. “Not today. I have some things to take care of first. Maybe early next week?”

Trent didn’t want to take no for an answer, but Jessica was able to convince him otherwise. His next questions belayed the extent of his anxiety. “Has he hurt you, Jessie? Has he hit you?”

Jessica started to shake her head, but she stopped. She couldn’t lie to Trent. Not anymore. Under his prodding, she relayed what Jon had done to Herlin. Then she told him why—because she’d sent Herlin to Shanty Town with money she’d stolen from Jon. She also confided about what Jon was doing to Martha. It wasn’t wise on her part to confess all of this. It only refueled Trent’s insistence that she leave right away. Once again she had to convince him it was better for her to wait.

Before he departed, Trent said, “So help me God, Jessie, if that ass lays one harmful finger on you, I will hunt him down and kill him myself.”

* * *

Trent’s next stop that same afternoon was Emily’s home. Outside, he and Emily walked along the path that circled the house where they could talk privately. Emily already knew of Trent’s encounter with the spook, as well as what he’d done since to discover the Imperial Wizard’s identity. Now, he filled her in on the conversation he just had with his sister and his newly found suspicion that Herlin Jefferson was working with the spook.

Hand in hand, they ambled closer to the house. Outside of the Brook’s parlor window Trent continued on with his observations, “Jessie is oblivious, but because she has a good relationship with Herlin, I think the spook is using her to get information through Herlin. I think the spook anticipates if Jessie’s knows, she’ll say something to Herlin. And Herlin will tell the spook.”

Neither Trent nor Emily were aware of the company in the Brooks’ sitting room. Through the opened parlor window, the three men with Emily’s father overheard every word Trent said.

* * *

Evening dawned pleasantly. In the middle of the day the temperature had risen considerably but as the sun began to set, it cooled off again. Jessica, Ruth, Martha and the children basked in it, spending their time after supper playing games in the yard. For Jessica all the romp and laughter was bittersweet. She would miss them so much. She would miss teaching them. She would miss Willy and his piano lessons.

Even so, she was glad for the distractions, because they kept her from dwelling on Jon’s odd behavior that morning and his vehemence that she wait for his return. The later the day became the more her nervousness increased. What she needed to do was store up her courage to confront him as she’d so diligently planned before. She told herself she had no interest in what he wanted to say to her, but it was a lie. The truth was she was curious.

Of course she really didn’t want to think about Jon at all. She wanted to think about Sebastian, and she did. Every time he came to mind, her heart did a little flip-flop. The very idea that he might still be alive had her near to bursting. There was nothing she hoped and prayed for more. She understood why he would have had to keep this from her. His reasons were the same as his denial of being the spook. He’d done it to protect her.

Ruth was the one who broke up the little party. “Okay, children, it’s time to head home. Run along before it gets darker and you get lost out there!”

They all giggled and laughed over Ruth’s teasing. Good nights were exchanged. Skipping and singing the children started up the hill toward their cabins, with Martha dragging a reluctant Willy after her. Only Ruth, Chelsea, Jacob and Jessica remained.

“I want to get the batter started for breakfast tomorrow, and I will be on my way, too,” Ruth said. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Chelsea?”

“I’m glad to,” Jessica said.

“You have your work cut out for you.” Ruth chuckled as she pushed through the kitchen door. Chelsea, apparently, had decided to run after Martha and Willy. She was already quite a distance up the hill.

“Chelsea, come back!” Jessica hollered, but Chelsea kept right on running. The only thing left for Jessica to do was chase after her.

She was getting closer, when abruptly Chelsea changed direction. “Bunny!” she chirped, and sped away back to the house, although not toward the rear and the kitchen, but around the side toward the front yard.