Healing Grace (12 page)

After that, the boy read to the colonel almost every night. Once the colonel asked what types of books he liked best. The boy told the colonel he liked all books, but then, before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I like poetry.” The next week the colonel brought back a book of sonnets.

When the regiment was involved in skirmishes and battles, the colonel ordered the boy to stay behind in his quarters. The colonel said he didn’t want the boy anywhere near the front lines where he could get hurt. The boy never disobeyed, but while he waited for the colonel to return, he worried. His anxiety sometimes overwhelmed him so badly he couldn’t do his chores. All he could do was sit and listen to the distant booms.

Every time the colonel returned from fighting, his clothes were bloodstained. The boy had to hold his breath until he was sure the blood wasn’t the colonel’s, and then he had to turn away to hide his gasps of relief. What he wanted to do was to wrap his arms around the colonel and just hold on, but he never did that.

It was just that he couldn’t remember anyone ever standing up for him and protecting him like the colonel did. He couldn’t remember anyone showing appreciation for his efforts, or asking after his comfort, or caring enough to ensure he was safe.

Sometimes at night, while he lay on his bedroll unable to sleep, the boy’s tears fell. They were tears of gratitude, tears of relief. Because he was so lucky. Being the colonel’s errand boy was a dream come true, and all the boy wanted was to stay with the colonel forever.

He’d been lost, but the colonel found him.

One by one the students rustled past on their way into the schoolhouse. From her position on the porch, Constance said hello to each of them, just as she always did, but the greetings were absently made. Today her focus was elsewhere. Coming up the path, laughing and skipping, were Jules Grace and Daniel Emerson, and they weren’t alone. Sauntering along with them was none other than Etienne Grace.

Just the sight of him made Constance burn. This was the man who held her in such little regard, he had no qualms about asking her to compromise herself. This was the same man who had shown up at the Murphy farm and foiled her plans—plans which, up until he’d appeared, had been going perfectly. From her place in the bushes under the window she’d heard every word spoken by the men in Murphy’s parlor, and she’d been on to something. They’d been talking about an old abandoned barn, the place the Klan had at one time used as its headquarters.

This was why, last night, she’d decided to go out again. She’d been in process of exploring the grounds surrounding the abandoned barn, looking for evidence of recent horse tracks and footprints, and she’d found them. She would have continued her exploration inside, but for the second night in a row—because of Etienne appearing out of nowhere—she had to give up.

As far as she was concerned he could take his haughty, arrogant self right back to his high and mighty military academy. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to speak with him. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him and his strong, gentle hands that could lift her so easily. Oh why did
that
memory have to keep returning?

She did have one thing to be smug about, though. She was a better horseman than he. Just recalling how easily she’d outrun him, not just once, but twice, was enough to cause her to bite her lip, lest her expression give her away. He was close now—close enough to tip his hat. One thing was certain, the ride—or was it the chase?—had been invigorating. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so energized, so regal, so alive!

“Hi, Miss Pruitt,” Daniel called out excitedly. “Jules came with me!”

“Hello, Daniel,” she said. “And Jules, welcome to the Northeastern School.”

Now at the foot of the porch steps, Etienne took off his hat and inclined his head. “Mrs. Pruitt… Constance. It is a pleasure.”

“Colonel,” Constance replied, though she purposely left off returning the sentiment. Seeing him wasn’t a pleasure. Far from it.

“I thought it would be a good idea to see that the boys made it to school.” He smiled. “You know how easily they can get distracted. They could have returned to Grace Manor this afternoon and for all we’d know, they’d spent the day catching toads at the creek rather than being here, absorbing your adept tutelage.”

“Yes, well, boys will be boys,” Constance murmured, then could have kicked herself.

What a stupid thing to say—to brilliantly intelligent
him
, of all people. Last night when he’d pursued her, he’d gotten within twenty yards. Despite the darkness and her masked attire, had he recognized her? Or Izzy? Did he know she was the one who’d outsmarted and outclassed him? These were questions she couldn’t ask. Of course he was still smiling, which made it impossible to tell what he was thinking.

To the boys, she said, “Daniel, please help Jules find a seat. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Mrs. Pruitt… Constance?” Etienne murmured. “Now is not the time, of course, but I would like to speak with you this afternoon, if possible? You spent much of the weekend—Saturday evening and then yesterday after church—with Simpson, and I wondered if during your…
er
… discussions he disclosed anything that might be prudent.”

Constance bristled. Did Etienne believe she’d already slept with Harry? Obviously he did, and this only increased her fury. And it was his fault she had nothing to tell him, because he’d thwarted what could have been promising eavesdropping at Murphy’s, as well as what she could have discovered at the abandoned barn.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “Harry is unaware of any resurgence of the Klan, and if there is one, he wants nothing to do with it. I can assure you he knows nothing of Luther’s murder. If you’ll excuse me, I must go to my students.”

Etienne’s grin widened, but Constance had the distinct impression he forced it.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I’m sorry to have detained you. But I have to come back later to accompany the boys home. So, I’ll see you this afternoon… Constance.”

The man didn’t have to say her name with such… such… she didn’t know what it was exactly, but he’d made the moniker sound more like a caress than a name. It felt like his fingertips had brushed her skin. Goosebumps were forming on her…
everywhere
, and it was far too hot for goosebumps.

Constance knew it was rude, but she didn’t care. Without a farewell of any kind, she swept into the schoolhouse.

It wasn’t long, however, before Etienne Grace lost his place as the foremost person on her mind. Archie Murphy often arrived late, but today he didn’t arrive at all. Yesterday, after church, Constance had gone to Grace Manor to see if he was there. Her visit had been brief, because she hadn’t wanted to inadvertently bump into Etienne. Although she hadn’t seen Archie personally, Emily had informed her that Archie was with his brother, Lieutenant Murphy.

After leaving Grace Manor, Constance had ridden out to the Murphy farm, as promised, to tell Violet that Archie was okay. Again she’d only stopped briefly. Oddly, Violet had seemed more concerned for her dog than her brother. Fortunately, however, Mr. Murphy hadn’t been there, or if he had been, Constance hadn’t seen him. For that she was grateful.

Regardless, what troubled her now was Archie’s failure to show for school. If he was indeed safe at Grace Manor, then there was no reason for him not to come. Her concern for the boy only worsened as the day progressed. That evening, she decided, she would go to Grace Manor again, and this time she would insist on seeing Archie in person. And that meant once more she just might run into the odious colonel.

“I told you, gal, you cain’t come in here. We don’t sell nothin’ to colored.”

It was a shame the clerk’s English was so poor, especially considering he worked at a bookstore. Miss Jessica would be horrified!

That thought was enough to cause Sadie to bite her lip to hold in laughter. Mocking the clerk, however, wouldn’t help get what she’d come for. As it was, the white jowly man was standing in the doorway, his bulk taking up so much space, there was no way, even as spry as she was, that she could slink past, though the idea did cross her mind.

“Please, sir,” she said, holding out the paper with titles written on it, and turning her head so the clerk would get a good view of the bruise on her cheek. Appealing to his humanity—if he was one of the few white folks who had any humanity—was one option. “My mistress will… will… she’ll beat me if I don’t bring these books back for her.”

“Not my problem,” the clerk said. “Go on now, gal. Git outta here. I told you, your kind ain’t welcome.”

“But I have money, sir. See.” Sadie grabbed the purposely crumpled wad of bills from her apron pocket and held them up, too. “It’s good money, sir.”

Rather than succumbing to the smell of greenbacks, the clerk’s beady eyes turned even beadier. “Don’t you listen? I said git outta here.”

“Oh, please, sir. My mistress said I should give it all to you, even if it’s more than the books cost. For your trouble.”

“The only trouble here is you! Git off my sidewalk or I’ll call the constable.”

“But my mistress said you’re a nice man. She said of everybody in this town, you’d understand and help.”

“I ain’t helping no nigger. And I don’t give a damn who your mistress is. If you don’t git outta here right now, I’ll beat you myself.”

He removed one thick paw from the jamb, and automatically Sadie cowered. It was a conditioned response. She hadn’t been subjected to that kind of treatment for a long time, but she remembered. She may have been just a little girl, but she remembered well what life had been like before Grace Manor.

“You lay one finger on that lady and you’ll regret it.”

The clerk spun around, backing out of the doorway, and Sadie peeked out from between the arms covering her head. It was
him
—the naked officer. He was inside the bookstore, just a yard or so beyond the clerk. Except he wasn’t naked. Now he was in full dress uniform, streaked sandy hair gleaming on top his head like a halo. Perhaps it was the way the sunlight filtered down upon him through the transom window, but in that instant Sadie could have sworn he was one of God’s warrior angels, come down from Heaven and bathed in resplendent glory.

Except that rather than brandishing a golden sword, hitched under his arm was a short stack of books. Etched in the one on top was the name, Henry David Thoreau. The soldier’s fierce glower fixed on the clerk for a long moment before he took a step toward the doorway, and Sadie. By then, thankfully, she’d lowered her arms, though the money and paper were still clutched in her hands.

“Miss Sadie,” the soldier said, inclining his head. “May I have a look at your list?”

Nodding dumbly, Sadie handed it over.

He turned to the clerk and dumped his stack into the stout man’s arms. “I would like to buy those. While you figure out what I owe, I’m going to gather the books on this list, and then I’m going to buy them as well. I trust you won’t have a problem with it.”

The clerk scowled. He wasn’t happy, but at least he returned to the counter. The soldier’s books thumped loudly as the clerk dropped them there. The soldier, however, wasn’t paying attention to the disgruntled man. He’d moved closer to Sadie. The only thing separating them was the threshold.

“Miss Sadie,” he murmured, leaning slightly so his remarks wouldn’t be overheard. “I’ll do my best, and I’ll try not to take too long, but if I can’t find some of these and have to ask for help, I don’t think I’ll get much.”

Sadie was still too awestruck, whether by his sudden manifestation, or his valiance, or even by the clean scent of him now drifting through her senses, she wasn’t sure. Holding up the wad of money, she said, “Here.”

“No.” He smiled, and goodness, even his teeth sparkled. “Put your money away. If you must, consider the books a gift. For what you did for my brother.”

“I didn’t do anything for your brother,” she murmured.

“Yes, you did,” he said. And then, before she could respond, he turned, with list in hand, and disappeared between rows of bookshelves.

While she stood on the sidewalk watching buggies and pedestrians pass in the street, Sadie contemplated running. There was no point in waiting. This was because she’d suddenly developed a tongue-tied condition that made it impossible for her to say anything sensible. The soldier would think she was a dunce. Of course, based upon how she’d acted at their last encounter, he’d probably already formed that opinion of her.

Why it mattered, why her stomach was in knots, Sadie didn’t know. It wasn’t as though a soldier like him—not just any solider, but an officer, a
white
officer—would ever want to have anything to do with her. She was just a stupid colored girl. Well, she wasn’t stupid, far from it, but she was colored, and being colored meant she carried with her a whole set of preconceived notions.

“Sadie?”

Sadie startled and spun. Why, oh why, did he have to keep appearing out of nowhere like that?

“I’m sorry.” He smiled and his eyes crinkled. “I couldn’t find two from your list, but most of them are here.”

His eyes were blue—a pristine, reverent blue, like a summer sky—but she couldn’t allow herself to get caught up staring. The stack of books he held was twice its original size. By the spines, Sadie saw hers were on top, so she reached out to take them.

“It’s alright. I can put them in my saddle bags and deliver them to Grace Manor for you,” he said.

“Oh, well…
um
…” Sadie hemmed.

Of course he believed the books were for Miss Emily, because that’s what Sadie had told the clerk. Evidently the soldier had overheard. She was sure his thoughts were somewhere along the line of, ‘the books couldn’t possibly be for an illiterate colored girl.’ He probably wondered how she’d come to be so well-spoken, too. Most white people did. Or they got mad and told her to stop mimicking her mistress. Never mind that she didn’t have a mistress.

“Are you going home now, or do you have more errands to run?” he asked.

“No, I don’t have any more errands.”

“I’m going back, too. May I… accompany you?”

The tentative question didn’t fit with the self-assured air he normally presented. The vulnerability was unexpected and unnerving, and so was his suggestion. White men didn’t escort colored girls anywhere. Ever. But with him mounted and her following along on foot, they wouldn’t make too much of a spectacle. People would assume she was the maid, or house girl, or something like that.

“Su…sure…” she stammered.

But Lieutenant Sam Holden didn’t mount. Instead he insisted upon walking, leading the horse behind him. The whole way through town he remained right beside her, so close they could have held hands. As it was, once or twice their knuckles bumped. Sadie pretended she didn’t feel it.

Of course, there was no mistaking the blatant stares. Several women whispered behind raised hands. One man on horseback tromped up the street and back, passing them at least half a dozen times, glowering threateningly. Sam, however, didn’t appear to notice any of this.

But he did notice. Sadie didn’t realize it until they’d left the confines of town and were on the otherwise empty country road.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “People can be awfully nosy. For whatever it’s worth, I don’t care what they think. I’m only sorry if they made you uncomfortable.”

A lot more than nosiness was at stake, but Sadie didn’t say so. He didn’t give her a chance.

“I should warn you, my brother Archie is at the cottage,” the lieutenant went on. “I’ve told him to stay inside and not trouble you… anyone, but Archie is… well, Archie. He’s an energetic boy and not used to being cooped up.”

“Won’t Colonel Grace allow you to look after him?” Sadie asked curiously.

“What? No, the colonel won’t care,” he said. “The issue is with… with our father. He’s… strict, you see, and Archie’s not used to that. Archie keeps threatening to run away. He already has. Twice. If he does it again…”

His voice trailed off, so Sadie finished, “You think if your father catches him, he’ll whip him.”

The lieutenant glanced at her briefly before returning his focus to the road. “Let’s just say my father and I… we…
uh
… we don’t get along. I want to take Archie with me back to Washington. He’s a smart kid, and there are better educational advantages in Washington. For now though, until we leave, I don’t want my father to know Archie’s here. I mean, he knows I have Archie at Grace Manor, but not where in particular on the estate. It’s better to let him believe Archie’s staying at the main house. I’ve instructed Archie not to leave the cottage, not even to go to school.”

“I understand,” Sadie murmured. All she could think was if the lieutenant was so concerned about his father harming Archie, how much had the lieutenant, as a child, endured? But these were questions she couldn’t ask. Instead she said, “While you’re busy with your duties for the colonel, I can keep an eye on him. At the very least, I can ensure he stays inside.”

“You would do that?” The lieutenant appeared incredulous. “I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate it. But only if you promise to tell me if he gives you trouble. Archie can be headstrong, and he has a mouth on him.”

“Yes, he does.” Sadie chuckled lightly.

It wasn’t long before they were at the entrance to Grace Manor’s immense property. Just inside the trees was a turn off from the main drive that led to the servants’ dwellings. Sadie knew, of course, that the lieutenant would want to deliver the books to Miss Emily at the main house, and he’d want to settle his horse in the barn, so naturally she assumed they would part ways. But the lieutenant didn’t stay on the main drive. He followed Sadie on the path.

“The barn is that direction,” she said, pointing the opposite way.

“Yes, but your house is this way,” he returned, grinning. “And I have all these books to deliver. I am a fan of Dickens too, by the way.”

“You are?” Sadie gulped. He’d known the books were for her all along?

“Have you read Hawthorne? What about Poe? Whitman?” he asked.

“Yes, yes and yes.”

They were still talking literature—whose writings they favored, which they would recommend, which characters were among their most beloved—when they reached her home. And then, rather than ending, the enlivening exchange continued. Sadie was so drawn in she had no idea how much time passed. As it was, she could have stood there, staring into those blue orbs all night, talking with him. How many times had he made her laugh? There were so many, she couldn’t count them.

“Sam! Are you and the nigger ever going to shut up? I’m hungry.”

The interruption came from the window of the lieutenant’s house. Archie was peering through the curtains.

“I’ll see to your dinner as soon as you learn to be polite,” Sam fired back. To Sadie, he said more sedately, “Brotherly duty calls. And he will apologize. But first, let me get your books.”

When he’d packed the saddle bags, he hadn’t kept her selection to one side and his to the other. The bound treasures were mixed up, so as he pulled each one out, Sadie took it, setting his in one pile on the porch and hers in another. Her volumes were all novels. Most of his were poetry, but this wasn’t a surprise. During their discussion he’d mentioned several poets. The last book he handed her was poetry as well. Recognizing the author’s name, Sadie’s breath caught.

Wide-eyed, she stared at the well-read soldier. Cushioned in her palms was a bound collection of poems by Phillis Wheatley.

“Is something wrong?” Sam asked. “She’s an amazing poet. I’ve read her before, but the copy I had was borrowed. I saw this at the bookstore and couldn’t resist adding it to my collection.”

“She’s a woman,” Sadie stated emphatically.

He smiled. “Well, I’m fond of Emily Dickinson. I’ve read Alcott, Shelley, Stowe, Bronte, Austen, just to name a few. Not all great writers are men, you know.”

“But Phillis Wheatley is…is… she’s
black
.”

With a nonchalant shrug, Sam said, “I know.”