Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (16 page)

Behind the kerchief that covered the bottom half of his face, the spook smirked.

* * *

Early Sunday morning, Jon waited for Jessica in the dining room. He had not slept and he was tired, but he’d washed, shaved and changed his clothes not long before. This meeting with her wasn’t one he was looking forward to.

There were dozens of wild daffodils lining the front porch of the house. Through the window he could see them. Already, they were beginning to bloom. Their bright yellow color seemed to burn his eyes, and yet he continued to stare at them until the latch on the door clicked.

He didn’t turn around until Jessica was seated. As expected, she said nothing to him. He crossed the distance to the table and sat, too. He hadn’t seen her from such close proximity for at least a month. Like the flowers, looking at her hurt his eyes.

“There is something I need to speak with you about,” he said slowly. He could feel her detestation in the brief glance she spared him. With a silent deep breath, he forged ahead, “There was a terrible tragedy last night. The parsonage was burned.”

Her instant and severe anxiety was very obvious. “Sebastian…?”

Jon shook his head. “They found his body in the debris this morning.”

She surprised him because she didn’t immediately tear up. She asked, “Was it deliberate?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Was it the Klan? Is the Klan responsible?”

“Yes.”

“Were you with them?”

“Yes.”

She began to breathe heavily, and yet when she spoke her voice was very quiet. She said, “I never want to see you again.” And then, as poised as always, she rose and walked out of the room.

Jon returned to the window where he forced himself to stare at the daffodils until the yellow lost its definition, until the petals converged into a blur, until the ache behind his eyes became agonizing.

The spook was dead and buried, and still the Klan’s last two raids failed. Their targets had disappeared into thin air. Worse, however, was the murder of one of their comrades. He was found on the side of the road with a bullet through his brain.

William Hughes was livid and so were the rest of the men. They had assembled at the abandoned barn for what was supposed to be a meeting, but it was quickly turning into more. From the moment William Hughes announced the name of the killer—a colored man—shouts rang out. The men wanted justice and they didn’t want to wait.

“Who is with me?” William shouted.

Raucous hoops and hollers followed. Someone yelled, “That nigger meets justice tonight!” In minutes, they were mounted and galloping toward their target.

The colored man wasn’t difficult to find, and he was alone. Most of the Klansmen remained mounted, while a select few, led by Edward Murphy, surrounded the makeshift tent and dragged their victim out. They pummeled him with clubs. Even after the man lay prone and unmoving, Murphy continued to strike.

It was in the midst of this that a brawny, white-cloaked rider came barreling through the rest of the pack. He brushed right past Jon, causing Webster to sidestep and careen into William Hughes’s mare.

“That’s enough!” the burly man bellowed. “Murphy, stand down!”

But it was too late. The colored man was already dead.

The burly man let loose a loud huff and spurred his horse around. He rode straight toward Jon and William Hughes. To William, with barely suppressed fury, he hissed, “This ends now!”

William said nothing. Jon glanced back to watch the broad-shouldered brute join up with either Harry Simpson or David Houser. A second look told him it was Houser, not Simpson. In costume the two men were impossible to tell apart. Jon knew by the horse.

“To the barn, men!” Arnold Whistler bellowed.

With that they were off. Most of the men galloped ahead. Along with Luther and William Hughes, Jon kept a more leisurely pace. There was a smaller group of five behind them moving even more slowly. Houser and the broad-shouldered man were among them. Within a minute or so there was enough distance for Jon, Luther and William Hughes to be out of earshot.

Even so, Jon kept his voice low, and asked casually, “That was the man who has a voice like Stone.”

“That is Stone,” Hughes confirmed.

“No, it can’t be!” Luther gaped. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Hughes said.

They began to bicker about it, Luther insisting the man couldn’t be Stone, and Hughes insisting he was, but Jon wasn’t listening. He glanced back again to note that Stone, if indeed it was Stone, was still behind them. Houser, however, had left him. He was moving rapidly toward them. “Hush up,” Jon said in the nick of time.

“Kinsley, wait up,” Houser hollered.

Luther and William stopped with him, but Jon gestured for them to go on ahead. He waited until Houser caught up to him. Stone and the other four with him remained well behind.

“Your loyalty to the Sons is unmatched,” Houser said. “We weren’t sure about you at first, but you proved us wrong.”

“I believe strongly in what we do. I will never betray my brothers,” Jon shrugged casually. “You want to talk to me about something?”

“Are you aware your brother-in-law, Trent Emerson left the Sons?”

“Well no, not exactly,” Jon chuckled. “Luther says Trent’s too preoccupied with his fiancée to attend meetings.”

Houser’s tone didn’t lighten. “We understand he may have helped the spook escape.”

“I heard the same story, but I don’t believe it,” Jon said. “Trent knows Stone charged his father with discovering the spook’s identity. But I guess it’s all moot now, since the spook is dead.”

“Hmm,” Houser mused, “Stone saw the remains found in the parsonage. He doesn’t believe the body was Nash. Regardless, our spook is still out there.”

“But… er…” Jon stammered. “Nash was… I was sure…”

Houser cut him off. “Stone would like to ask a favor of you.”

“Finally!” Jon exclaimed. “He’s changed his mind about promoting me! I’m honored and I’m ready—”

“That’s not it,” Houser interrupted again. “But if you want to consider this a promotion of sorts, fine. Stone wants you to watch Trent. We need to be certain he has not turned on us. You can report to me and I’ll pass along your reports to Stone. We need to keep this just between us.”

“I understand,” Jon said. “That’s not a problem.”

“If Trent has taken up with the spook, we do have a problem,” Houser said. “I hope you realize the extent of what Stone is asking of you, Kinsley. If Emerson has betrayed us…” He paused, his meaning clear. “The safety of the men is Stone’s primary concern. Too many brothers have lost their lives because of the spook.”

“Trent is my wife’s brother,” Jon said anxiously. “They are very close.”

“Can you handle it?” Houser asked.

“I don’t know. I—”

“Can you handle it?” Houser repeated.

Jon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll do whatever has to be done. In the name of the Sons.”

“Good. I’ll tell Stone you’ve agreed,” Houser said. “Oh, yes, one more thing. You have a colored man working for you—Herlin Jefferson—I believe? He’s been seen in Shanty Town at night. Perhaps you’re not aware of this? You need to put a stop to it. If you don’t, he will become a target for the Sons.”

Jon didn’t have a chance to respond.

“Holy mother of God!” The heated bellow came from ahead of them and it was loud. Other shouts followed, “It’s the spook! After him!”

Jon glanced back. Only three men were behind them. The broad-shouldered man was no longer among them.

Beside him, Houser cursed. Shots rang out. Men were shouting and hollering. Someone yelled, “I hit him! I think I got him!” The horses clamored around wildly. Weapons were drawn and rifles loaded. Jon spurred Webster onward, but the trees were in his way. He couldn’t see what held their attention. He didn’t see for himself until he was almost upon the riotous group.

There, on the crest of a distant hill, glimmering in the moonlight, was the blackened silhouette of a man on horseback. The horse reared high, pawing the air, as if to taunt them. And then, in a flash he was gone, disappearing over the opposite side of the hill.

“Jon! Kinsley! Come on!” Arnold Whistler bellowed. “I guess we were wrong about Nash, eh? No matter. That nigger lover was trouble. We’re better off with him dead. Let’s go! Let’s catch this son of a bitch once and for all!”

Seven men, including Jon, took off in pursuit. Webster, being one of the strongest horses, was soon out in front. Only once did the posse catch another glimpse of their dark enemy. Several miles were behind them before Jon slowed. The rest of them followed his lead. Straining his eyes in the darkness, he searched for hoofmarks. The trail turned abruptly west.

“This way!” he yelled to his comrades. In seconds they were flying again.

* * *

“I asked Trent which flowers he likes best and he won’t tell me!” Emily complained. “I don’t understand him. Anytime we talk about the wedding he shuts up like he’s turned into a mute. He makes me think he doesn’t want to get married at all. Oh, it’s so frustrating!”

“He does care,” Jessica tried to reassure her friend. “He thinks he’s being magnanimous. He thinks by letting you choose, he’s making you happy.”

As he’d been doing every week, Trent brought Emily to Bent Oak Manor to visit. He didn’t usually stay with them, and Jessica supposed it was just as well. She and her girlfriend most often ended up talking about the upcoming nuptials, and that would bore Trent to death. Gregarious Emily could go on and on both praising and complaining about her brother, and Jessica was glad for the distraction. It helped to take her mind off Sebastian. It helped take her mind off her baby son, Evan, too.

She was better, she supposed. She didn’t feel like crying every single second anymore, but she couldn’t completely shake the melancholy either. It was there, hovering over her, like a constant ache.

“I hope you’re right.” Emily smirked and giggled. “After we left the flower shop Trent didn’t take me home. We parked out on Highmount, overlooking the river. Jessie, let me tell you—”

Before Emily could say another word, Jessica straightened abruptly and pressed a finger to her lips.

“What is it?” Emily whispered.

“Jon,” she murmured. His audible footsteps moved through the foyer and then into his study. He rarely, if ever came into the parlor anymore, but Jessica was afraid if he heard them, he just might. God forbid that he ask to join them. To Emily she explained, “He usually isn’t here at this time of day. What were we talking about? Trent took you to Highmount?”

“Why do you do that?” Emily asked.

“Do what?”

“You don’t ever want to talk about Jon. I’ve tried to get you to, but you won’t. All we ever talk about is me. I’m supposed to be your friend. We’ll be sisters soon. Trent has told me about some of the difficulties you’ve had, but Jessie, you don’t tell me anything. You know you can confide in me, don’t you?”

Jessica let out the breath she was holding. “I know. It’s just I don’t want to talk about Jon. I don’t want to even think about him.”

“Oh, Jessie,” Emily sympathized. “Is he really that awful? Trent thinks he mistreats you. Is that true? Does he hurt you?”

Jessica shook her head. “He ignores me and I prefer it that way. He mistreats the servants. He—”

“He what?” Emily coaxed gently.

Jessica wasn’t quite sure what to say. Confiding in Sebastian was one thing. Telling Emily, especially now that her girlfriend was engaged to her brother, was a different story entirely. She didn’t want Trent or her father to worry about her. She didn’t want anyone to know about what Jon was doing to Martha. Emily was supposed to only care about giggles and silly, romantic ideals.

“He’s the most evil man I’ve ever known,” Jessica admitted. “I was stupid and naïve and starry-eyed. If I could go back and do it all over again, I would never have married him.”

Emily squeezed her hand. “If you’re truly this unhappy, you should leave him. You can always go home. Your father and Trent would welcome you back in a heartbeat.”

“Oh no!” Jessica exclaimed. “I can’t.”

“You can do anything you want to do,” Emily said. “If you’re miserable—and we both know you are—you shouldn’t stay here.”

“He would never let me leave. He would come after me. I know he would. Plus I have my school and Willy’s piano lessons. I can’t leave, Emily. Think of the scandal.” Jessica’s anger rose, as it did whenever she thought of her husband. “That stupid Klan!”

“Jessie, do you know how strongly opposed to the Klan Trent is now?” Emily said. “He hates them. He told me terrible stories of the people they hurt, and he said he couldn’t take it anymore. He said some of the things he saw the Klan do were worse than things he saw during the war. I think you and I both know how much he hated the war. Maybe Trent can talk to Jon. Maybe Trent can persuade Jon to quit, too.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Jessica mumbled. “I shouldn’t be blaming the Klan. I should be thanking them. If it weren’t for the Klan, I might have never realized what a disgusting man I married. Oh, Emily, you’re lucky Trent is good. I made such a horrible, horrible mistake!” Jessica was unable to keep her emotions from surfacing. She hiccupped and sniffled and whispered, “It’s too late. It’s just too late… and Sebastian is gone…”

Emily wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You loved Reverend Nash, didn’t you? Stephanie was right all along. He loved you, too, didn’t he?”

Jessica swiped her eyes. “I don’t know. I’ll never know. But, I miss him. I miss him so much…”

* * *

Jon was following through with his assignment for the Sons. Luther had begged off, saying he wasn’t feeling well, but Trent had gone to the tavern. Jon arrived at the smelly old place to find not only Trent, but Arnold Whistler, Edward Murphy and William Hughes. They weren’t the only disrobed Klansmen in attendance. Even so, Jon joined them at their table.

They were there for quite some time and most of it was spent teasing Trent about his upcoming nuptials. Glasses clinked, laughter spilled and Trent took the brunt of obnoxious mockery in good humor. Houser had led Jon to believe other Klansmen suspected Trent of treachery. If that were true, it didn’t show. By the time they were sharing their third bottle, Jon knew he had too much. Even so, he wasn’t one to shirk his friends. Along with the rest of them, he downed his freshly filled glass.

Just as he slammed it down on the table, Whistler said, “What are we gonna do ’bout that idiot nigger of yours, Jon?”

“Which one?” Jon chortled. “They’re all idiots.”

“Your driver, Herlin,” Whistler said.

“Oh, that one. Stupid ox of a boy. He doesn’t listen. Never has. He’s been causing me trouble since day one,” Jon complained.

“He’s been seen in Shanty Town,” Hughes said. “He’s stirring up trouble. I spoke with Stone about it, and he agrees. Something needs to be done.”