Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (5 page)

“What happened to Bellows? I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet.” Whistler was either trying to distract and diffuse, or he was merely oblivious of Trent’s inflamed temper. Knowing Whistler, Jon was fairly certain it was the latter.

“I hope he’s not alone out there,” Luther offered. “There was no sign of the spook earlier, but that doesn’t mean he’s not out there prowling. It’s not safe for any of us to travel alone.”

Trent downed another shot. “I hope the spook is out there. And I hope Bellows runs into him. I hope the spook nails him! After what he did tonight, he deserves it!”

“Trent!” Luther exclaimed. “The spook is not something to joke about! I don’t care how angry you are. Bellows is your brother in the Klan! None of us deserve to be attacked by that monster!”

“You’d think, since he’s already been roughed up by the spook once, he wouldn’t risk it again,” Jon commented dryly.

Trent’s heated glare turned from his father to Jon. “If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it!”

“Trent! Enough!” Luther’s face turned red. “If you can’t be civil, then leave!”

“Speaking of the spook, have you heard from Stone yet?” Whistler asked Hughes. “Did he tell you what we should do about Nash?”

“Not yet,” Hughes said.

“Stone must still be deliberating. He doesn’t believe Nash is the spook,” Luther offered.

“I don’t either,” Jon snickered. “Nash is too damn prissy. I think the man is queer.”

“You’ve said that before,” Hughes said, “but for a queer, he sure pays a lot of attention to your wife.”

“What do you mean?” Jon was busily pouring another round.

“Let me put it this way,” Hughes said. “I would strongly suggest you come back to church.”

“I’m not going into any church with niggers in it,” Jon spat.

“Perhaps you need to keep a better eye on that wife of yours. Are you aware she visits Nash every afternoon? She meets him at the church and then they go to the parsonage. They stay there together,
alone
, for hours.”

“Are you implying that my daughter is—” Luther started and cut himself off. To Jon he said, “She wouldn’t do that to you, Jon. I know my daughter. She would never.”

“Do you know Nash calls her ‘honey’?” Hughes went on. “I’ve heard him myself. So have you, Luther. You can deny it all you want, but mark my words, something’s going on that shouldn’t be.”

“Is this true?” Jon spouted. His pulse was beginning to race. “Why didn’t anybody tell me? You know I’m not home during the day. My horses… I’m busy…” He looked from Luther to Whistler to Trent. Luther looked appalled. Whistler nodded knowingly. Trent merely smirked.

“Perhaps you don’t know this either, Jon,” Hughes said, “but your wife doesn’t sit with us in our pew. She sits in the back of the church with that nigger of yours. I think his name is Herlin.”

“God damn it!” Jon hissed. “He knows better. I’m gonna beat him within an inch of his life!”

“If I were you, I would be more worried about your wife and that Yankee, than I would about your driver,” Whistler chimed in. “From all I’ve heard about your wife—sorry Luther, but your girl is trouble—she could use a good beating.”

“No, Jon, you won’t do that, will you?” Luther said anxiously. “You won’t hurt Jessica? There has to be a reasonable explanation.”

“You dare lay one hand on my sister, and you will be sorry, Kinsley!” Trent glowered. Again his fist on the table was clenched.

“What are you going to do, Jon?” Hughes asked casually.

Jon grabbed the bottle and poured. In his haste, he spilled more than he got in his glass. Even so, he downed the shot and slammed the glass down on the table so hard it dented the plank. “What am I gonna do? I’m gonna lynch that son of a bitch!”

“Jon, calm down,” Luther murmured. “Like I said, I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight. Wouldn’t it be better to take some time and consider all of this again when you’re sober?”

“What do you care, Luther?” Jon hissed. “You can’t stand Nash either. Look at it this way, if he is the spook and I kill him, you won’t have to figure out who he is. Your problem will be solved!”

February was not a good month for the servants at Bent Oak Manor. The illness Ditter had at Christmastime returned with a vengeance, and it was making its way through the entire household. Ruth was very sick with it, and Jessica refused to allow her to work for an entire week. Jacob and Chelsea came down with it next, and so did several of the other children. By then, Ruth was better, but Jessica insisted she remain at the cabins to take care of the little ones. In Ruth’s absence, in addition to her regular housekeeping duties, Martha had to take on the kitchen work. There was, however, entirely too much for one person. This was why Jessica was with Martha daily, prepping meals, doing dishes and laundry and anything else she could to help.

While she didn’t mind the work, it did infringe somewhat upon her afternoons with Sebastian. She still went to assist him with his school, but afterwards, instead of staying into the evening hours, more often than not, she returned to the manor. It was just as well.

Sebastian had told her he was neglecting his parishioners. Before he started his school he’d spent most of his days visiting with members of the congregation in their homes. Since the beginning of the year, the only home visits he’d made were to the infirm. He simply didn’t have time to do more. His work and his responsibilities to those who depended upon him had to come first, just as Jessica’s did.

To say that she missed him would be putting it mildly. The good thing, of course, was the mundane routine of housework allowed for plenty of time to daydream. While she scrubbed dishes she replayed the many stories he told her, of his childhood, of his years as a boxer and of his experiences in the war.

While she peeled potatoes, she thought of his sense of humor, the way he could change his accent to mimic people, his somewhat off-color jokes and the many times he unexpectedly teased her.

While she hung laundry she thought of his compassion for others and his exceptional perception and intuition, not just when it came to her, but with everyone. During these musings she came to the conclusion that Sebastian had the ability to read minds.

While she trekked out to the cabins to deliver soup for the sick children, she thought of his modesty and how he didn’t think his sermons were any good. He’d told her most of his lessons were repeats of his father’s. Of course Jessica refuted this claim. She told him he captured her attention every single week, from his very first word to his last.

While she kneaded and shaped dough, she thought of what a wonderful friend he’d become, how he made her feel important and special, and how good it was to share both her joys and sorrows with someone who cared.

While she dusted and swept floors, she thought of his Meggie, and wondered, as she had so many times, what it would feel like to be as deeply loved as Meggie had been.

It was at night, however, that she thought of him the most. While lying in bed, waiting for sleep to claim her, she pictured him in black clothing, with a kerchief hiding his face and the black scarf she made around his neck. She imagined him riding across the countryside, traversing fields and forests on his grand black stallion, Apostle. From all the stories she’d heard from Ruth and Martha about the spook, it wasn’t difficult to envision the perilous situations, or the man who, time and time again, risked his life to save others.

Of course, Jessica wasn’t entirely certain Sebastian was the spook, but her gut told her he was. A while ago she’d asked him point blank. He laughed and said, “Who, me?” He didn’t confirm it. But he didn’t deny it either. She knew, from eavesdropping on her husband and his Klan friends that they believed he was.

This was another reason it was a good idea for her to be at home in the afternoons. Her husband liked to entertain. At least two or three times a week, he invited his fellow Klansmen to the manor. For hours they drank whiskey and made plans. By standing outside the parlor door and clandestinely listening, Jessica could learn of their intentions with regard to the spook, and she would be able to warn Sebastian. She’d made a vow to protect him, but because she’d spent so much time away, she’d neglected this essential duty. In the last couple weeks, she’d eavesdropped four times. Even though she hadn’t heard anything significant, she knew eventually she would. The valiant hero wasn’t concerned enough for his own safety. Someone had to look out for him, and that someone was her.

The third Sunday of the month, as always, Jessica rose excitedly. She always enjoyed Sundays and they were even better since her husband no longer accompanied her to church. As she hurried across the lawn to where Herlin parked the carriage, the last thing she expected was to see Jon standing beside it. Herlin was already in the driver seat. His shrug told her he didn’t know why Jon was there either.

“Good morning,” her husband said coolly.

To avoid looking at him, Jessica fiddled with her glove.

“I’m coming with you today,” he announced in his typical haughty manner.

He held out his hand to assist her, but she ignored it. During the ride not a word was spoken between them, and this suited Jessica just fine. She was content staring out the window. At the church, again Jon reached out to help her descend the carriage step, and again she ignored him.

Although Jessica said nothing aloud, Herlin knew exactly what she was asking when she looked up at him—would he come inside the church to worship? The slight shake of his head infuriated her, but she wasn’t angry with Herlin. She was angry with Jon.

It was not worth it, however, to press the issue and make a scene. It was bad enough she had to endure the next tension-filled moments greeting her father, her brother and William Hughes. She got through them because Sebastian was there. His brief smile was enough to revive her courage and determination. She sat in the pew between Trent and her husband. She sang the hymns, she listened intently to Sebastian’s lesson, and she didn’t have to speak to Jon once.

At the end of the service, as always, Sebastian stood in the chancel, shaking hands and saying farewell to the congregation as they shuffled past. When it was her turn, he folded Jessica’s hand between both of his and asked, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Jessica returned his smile. “Yes, of course. I will be here.”

Because Jon was right behind her in line, anything more they might have said to each other was stilted. Sebastian turned to Jon and said, “Captain, I see you’ve decided to come back.”

Jon didn’t comment to that. All he said was, “Good day, Reverend.”

Outside, Jessica strode purposefully toward the carriage. She had no intention of waiting for Jon, but she heard him hurrying to catch up to her. She quickened her pace, but she wasn’t fast enough. He caught her elbow. “Let go!” she screeched.

As she turned, however, she was surprised to discover the person who grabbed her wasn’t Jon. It was Trent. Jon, she saw, was still near the porch, saying farewell to her father and William Hughes.

“Geez, Jessica!” Trent hissed.

“Sorry. You startled me,” she said. “I thought you were Jon.”

“Listen, Jessie.” Trent’s irritation was gone. He looked deadly serious. “We don’t have a lot of time. Kinsley is coming. I want to know, has he done anything to harm you? Has he ever hit you?”

The question caught her unawares. “No, of course not.”

Trent’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “You’d better be telling me the truth. Has he… has he forced himself on you?”

“He would never do that!” Jessica said, but she was flustered, too. Not because of the question, but because she was so sure of her answer.

“If he ever does anything to harm you, Jessie, I want you to leave. You come home to the farm.”

“Jon won’t hurt me,” Jessica repeated.

“Maybe he hasn’t, but I don’t trust him. If that ass you married ever threatens you, you promise you’ll get away from him.”

“Okay, I promise,” Jessica said, but she was still disconcerted. There was no more time, however. Jon was close, a mere few yards away.

Trent hastily embraced her and kissed her forehead. “Bye, Jessie. You take care.” To Jon, he nodded curtly. “Kinsley.”

“Emerson.” Jon nodded in return.

The carriage ride back to Bent Oak Manor was made in silence, too. They were in the drive when Jon, in a tone laced with clipped disdain, said, “I don’t anticipate returning to church anytime soon. Herlin won’t have to wait outside in the cold.”

Jessica refused to look at him. It galled her that he knew about Herlin attending the services, but of course her father, William Hughes, or any of Jon’s other Klan comrades would have told him. He stepped down from the carriage first and stood beside it holding his hand up to her. For the fourth time that day, she ignored his proffered assistance. As soon as she was firmly on her feet, he turned around and walked away.

Jessica stared after him. Perhaps it wasn’t the Christian thing to feel, especially on a Sunday, but her only prevailing thought was that she deeply loathed him.

* * *

For February the temperature was unusually warm. Instead of snow, the precipitation was rain and it was coming down in a deluge. It hammered on the tin roof of the parsonage and pelted against the window glass. Combined with the strong winds, the cacophony of noises was loud, but somehow comforting. Inside the house, Sebastian was warm and dry, and quite intoxicated.

It was the second anniversary of his wife’s death. He didn’t imbibe often, but he’d done this same thing a year ago. For the last hour he’d been slouched on the sofa staring up at Margaret’s portrait above his fireplace. The bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingertips was almost empty. Last year his tears fell, but this year they did not. This year his grief was coupled with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Out loud he said, “I’m sorry, Meggie. I won’t forget you. I swear I won’t.”

When Sebastian heard the knock on his front door, he ignored it, assuming it was clatter generated by the wind and rain. The second time he heard it he sat up and set the whiskey bottle on the end table. It was late and dark. There was no reason for someone to be calling, especially in this weather. Wobbling slightly, he went to the door and swung it wide.

In an attempt to rectify his bleary focus, he briefly squeezed his eyes shut. It took another moment for him to finally recognize the drenched young woman on his stoop. “Stephanie Dunn? What on earth? Come in out of the rain!”

Although lighting in the foyer was dim, Sebastian could see enough to know she was not well. She lowered the hood of her cloak to reveal her flowing, pale hair, the only part of her that wasn’t soaked, and she said, “Reverend, I hope you don’t mind I’ve come here. I’ve run away from home. My father is so mean I just couldn’t stay there another minute. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Did you walk all the way here?” Sebastian tried to control his reeling head by fixing his focus on the face of this delicately beautiful girl. Her eyes were like shimmering crystals, shyly staring at him. When she nodded, he said, “First things first. You need to get out of those wet clothes. While you change I’ll make us some coffee and we can talk. Okay?”

“But Reverend, I have nothing to change into,” she said.

Run away, indeed!
Perhaps he was pathetically inebriated, but at least he still had enough wherewithal to notice she wasn’t carrying a satchel. There was no question in his mind, she’d come here because of her infatuation with him. Her pretty white teeth began to chatter. “Come upstairs with me,” he said. “You can borrow my robe. It’s not the most appropriate thing, but it will have to do. I don’t really have anything else to offer.”

He led her to his bedroom and handed her his burgundy, cotton dressing gown. From his dresser he retrieved a pair of thick wool socks. His next chore was to add kindling to the dying fire.

“You can spread your clothes by the fireplace here so they dry faster. I’ll meet you downstairs in the parlor,” he told her, then left her alone, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him.

He was sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee and willing his head to clear when she appeared. She was tall for a woman, but the robe was still too large for her. Its hem swirled around her shapely bare feet as it slithered across the floor. The belt was tied tightly around her tiny waist, revealing the hourglass shape of her slender figure. She looked like an exquisite angel, slowly drifting toward him.

Hoping his words weren’t too terribly slurred, he said, “Come in. Have a seat. Tell me why you’re so upset you ventured out in this awful weather.”

Stephanie didn’t sit in the chair across from him. She sat right beside him on the sofa, so close the spread of the robe draped over his foot, and the honey scent of her perfume overwhelmed his nose. He tried to listen attentively as she complained about her father’s many restrictions, but he forgot what she said almost as soon as she said it.

“He won’t even let me come to church anymore,” she carried on. “I miss you, Reverend. And he wants me to—” Tears gathered in her gemstone eyes.

“He wants you to…?” Sebastian prompted.

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you with all of this. I don’t know what else to do. Reverend, Daddy wants me to marry Thomas Digby. But I can’t marry him. He’s so old. I told Daddy I want to marry someone younger. Someone like you.” She paused briefly and put her long, manicured fingers to her mouth. “Oh, Reverend, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that Daddy doesn’t like you because of the way you help the Negroes. I think what you do for them is kind, and I told him so.”