Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (17 page)

“Houser told me,” Jon said. “And I took care of it yesterday. Don’t worry, my nigger won’t leave the manor after dark again. He can’t even if he wants to. He’s too sore right now to sit a horse. I took the horsewhip to him.”

Plenty of guffaws followed. All of them were laughing, except Trent.

“If he disobeys you, Jon, if he’s seen again in Shanty Town, Stone says we lynch him,” Hughes said.

“Damn straight, we will!” Jon agreed.

“Did it ever occur to you that Herlin might have a good reason for going to Shanty Town?” Trent chimed in. “You said he came from there, didn’t you, Kinsley? Maybe he has family there? Maybe he’s just visiting them? Maybe he’s not guilty of any wrongdoing?”

“There is no such thing as an innocent nigger,” Jon chortled. “And I don’t give a damn if he has family. Niggers don’t know what family means. If I tell him not to go there, he better not go there. If he does, he deserves whatever punishment I dole out!”

“If you get rid of him, you’ll have to find another driver,” Trent said.

“So?” Jon chuckled.

Trent’s scowl deepened. “You would lynch a man for disobeying you, without even asking him why?”

“Emerson, what is your problem?” Whistler spat. “This is none of your business now. You quit, remember?”

Heavy tension was mounting between the two men. Even in his inebriated state, Jon could feel it. He saw the muscle in Trent’s arm bulging under his sleeve. Hoping to calm them both, he suggested casually, “I’ll whip him again as a reminder. That should solve the problem. And if he dies, so be it.”

Trent was still facing off with Whistler. “Stone doesn’t agree with all the killing you people do!”

Whistler leaned forward in his chair. “Are you calling me a liar, Emerson?”

“If the shoe fits,” Trent snapped.

Whistler’s chair scraped across the floor and he stood up. Trent followed suit.

“Back off, Trent!” Hughes roared.

Jon wasn’t close enough to reach Trent, but he was able to grab Whistler’s forearm. “Whoa! Let him be. Besides it won’t be a fair fight. He’s a cripple!”

That apparently was not the right thing to say. Trent’s wrath immediately turned on him. “Now, Trent,” Jon said, “sit and have another drink. This round is on me.”

“I’m done here,” Trent seethed. “Why don’t you come with me, Kinsley? I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”

Jon blinked. It was the perfect opportunity to do what Stone wanted him to do. He had a revolver hidden in his saddle bags. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll come with you. The night is still young. Maybe my wife will be awake.” His eyebrows rose to indicate his intentions. Again Trent was the only one of them who didn’t laugh.

When Jon stood up, he staggered into and jarred the table. Had Hughes and Whistler not quickly snatched up the bottles, they would have fallen.

“’Night, brothers!” Jon reached into his pocket, withdrew several coins and tossed them onto the table. “Have another on me.”

Outside, Jon stumbled down the steps after Trent. The livery was across the street, a few buildings away. Tripping and staggering over the ruts in the road, Jon somehow managed not to topple. He entered the livery behind Trent and hollered to the colored attendant. “Saddle up our horses, boy! And hurry up about it!”

Trent turned on him. “You’re as bad as Murphy and Whistler.”

“What?” Jon said defensively. “It’s just a nigger.”

Before Jon could draw another breath, he was slammed roughly into the wall behind him. His back hit the planked wood hard enough for the boards to creak. The heavy weight of Trent’s forearm was across the top of his chest, close to his throat, holding him in place. Too stunned and too inebriated to react any differently, Jon just stood there, glazed-eyed.

“You son of a bitch!” Trent fumed. “I’m sick of the way you upset my sister. I’m sick of you! Let this be a warning. I will be watching you. Do you hear me, you drunk? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Jon’s head reeled in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his throat. It didn’t really work. He tried to chuckle, but the sound was more like a choked frog. He said, “Whoa, Trent. Down boy!”

Trent drew back and slammed him against the wall a second time. Jon’s head cracked into the wood behind him, and for a moment he saw stars. With an exaggerated groan he sagged forward.

“I’m not kidding, you fool!” Trent growled. “If you do or say anything to hurt my sister, I will bring you down!”

“I love her,” Jon mumbled. Without Trent’s arm pinning him any longer, he stumbled forward. “She hates me.”

“No wonder! You’re pathetic!” Trent yanked the reins of his horse from the hesitantly approaching livery attendant.

“I thought you were going to take me home?” Jon said.

“Take you home?” Trent snarled. “I was going to beat the shit out of you, but you’re too damn drunk. It would be a wholly unsatisfying experience, even for a cripple! Find your own way home. Maybe you’ll pass out in a ditch. Too bad it’s not winter any longer. You might have frozen to death!”

Jon staggered after him. “I thought we were friends.”

“I put up with you because my sister is married to you. But make no mistake, you are no friend of mine and you never will be. I think you are slime!” Viciously growling, he spun around and jammed a fast and heavy fist into Jon’s gut.

The blow doubled him over. His knees buckled. On all fours, he struggled to breathe.

“That was for Jessica!” Trent bellowed.

It took a few minutes for Jon to gasp and cough his way back to normal. By the time he rose, Trent was long gone.

Jon took Webster’s reins from the timid livery attendant. Without a word to the colored man, he led the big horse steadily out of the building.

Jessica was in the parlor working with Willy at the piano when she heard them ride up. From the window she saw the four men dismount. She recognized them immediately—Arnold Whistler, Abe Bellows, Harry Simpson and Edward Murphy.

To Willy she said, “Quickly, go back to the kitchen. We’ll have to continue your lesson later.”

Jessica intended to retreat as well, but she wasn’t fast enough. The knock sounded and Ditter was there to answer it. Arnold Whistler pushed right past him into the house. Harry Simpson was on his heels. The others, thankfully, remained outside.

“Mrs. Kinsley,” Arnold Whistler nodded to her. “Is your husband at home?”

Lacing her tone with as much disdain as she could, she said, “No, I believe he is out.”

“When do you expect him?”

“Any minute, sir,” Ditter said humbly.

“We’ll wait,” Harry said.

Arnold Whistler shook his head. “We’re looking for Herlin Jefferson. Where might we find him?”

“In the stable, sir,” Ditter said.

“Let’s go,” Arnold Whistler told Harry.

“You don’t want to wait for Kinsley?” Harry asked.

“No.”

They went out but Ditter didn’t shut the door right away. Through it, Jessica heard Arnold Whistler say, “He’s in the stable. Let’s do this.”

Jessica glanced at Ditter one last time and then she was running. Ditter was right behind her. By the time they made it through the kitchen and across the lawn, the disrobed Klansmen were at the stable door, hollering Herlin’s name.

Herlin wasn’t in the barn. He was around the side of it, inside the fenced area, and he was carrying Chelsea. It didn’t appear he heard them yelling his name, because as soon as he saw them, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Is that your kid?” Harry Simpson asked.

“Da cap’n ain’t here,” Herlin said.

“You’re the one we want. Come on out through that gate!” Arnold Whistler bellowed.

Herlin set Chelsea down on her feet and said quietly to her, “Run over ta Miss Jessica. Go on.”

The baby, for once, did exactly as she was told. She toddled through the gate and right past the four Klansmen. Jessica scooped her up just as Abe Bellows and Edward Murphy advanced on Herlin. They jumped him and dragged him out.

“What’s dis ’bout?” Herlin protested fearfully. “Whatcha want wit me?”

“Let him go! What do you think you’re doing?” Jessica shouted. She started toward them, but Ditter tried to stop her. Spinning back, she thrust Chelsea at him, forcing him to release his hold on her so he could take the child.

“Thith boy needth to be taught a lethon!” Edward Murphy said. “A real lethon!”

“He hasn’t done anything to you! You have no right. Let him alone!” Jessica cried.

Pushing and shoving, they brought Herlin to the pasture fence. “Tie him up,” Arnold Whistler ordered.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Jessica shouted. “You can’t do this! Herlin is important here. If he can’t work, the captain will be furious!”

Jessica’s frantic protests were ignored. They forced Herlin to his knees, then yanked his arms straight above him and tied his wrists to the top rail. Roughly they ripped his shirt, leaving the torn garment hanging from his belt. They stepped back and Harry Simpson handed Arnold Whistler a braided leather horsewhip. Jessica gasped as much from what they were doing, as she did from seeing the numerous, well-healed scars covering the expanse of Herlin’s muscular back.

“No!” she screamed as she hurled herself protectively in front of Herlin. “You can’t do this! You have no right!”

“Yes, we do,” Arnold Whistler said. “Your husband asked us to come here today. He gave us permission to take care of this problem. Please get out of the way.”

She should have known! Of course Jon would be behind this! Ditter, who was no longer holding Chelsea, moved hesitantly closer. Wally and several of the other stable hands huddled near the barn entrance. Field hands were making their way in from the fields. Ruth was near the kitchen door, gathering children into the house, where they wouldn’t be able to see any more of this horror. Martha was standing there as well, but her attention was solely focused on what was happening to Herlin. And Willy was with her, clutching her skirt.

Jessica glowered at Arnold Whistler, daring him to come near her. They would have to strike her down to get her to move out of the way! She could tell by the pig-faced man’s expression that he was flustered. He didn’t know what to do. Triumphantly and haughtily she smiled.

“Please get out of the way, ma’am,” he repeated.

In the distance, thunder began to rumble, but it wasn’t thunder. It was a rapidly approaching horse. Jessica didn’t have to look to recognize Webster coming up the drive.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jon called out as he flew into the yard.

The anger in his tone was unexpected. Jessica was suddenly infused with hope that he might put a stop to this. He dismounted and strode purposefully toward her.

Jessica held firm in her stance. “Jon, tell them they can’t do this. Tell them they have no right to come here. Herlin has done nothing wrong! Make them go! Please!”

“Hush!” Jon snapped. She thought he was coming to her, but he went to Arnold Whistler instead and asked, “What happened?”

“He was seen last night, Jon,” Arnold Whistler said. “You know we can’t let this go.”

Jessica left Herlin to trail after her husband. Jon stood face to face with Arnold Whistler. His anger, however, melted away. He smirked crookedly and said, “Of course, you’re right.”

“No!” Jessica shrieked. She grabbed Jon’s arm as he turned. With a swift upswing he dislodged her reticent hold.

He strode over to Herlin, grabbed a fistful of Herlin’s hair and roughly yanked. “I’ve warned you enough. I’m tired of you taking advantage of me. Perhaps today you will learn your lesson!” His menacing glare scoured the barn door and the numerous sets of terrified eyes. “Every one of you takes advantage of me. Cross me again and this is what will happen to you, too!”

Jessica chased after him, and clawed at his hand, trying to pry his grip from Herlin. “Whatever you think he did, he didn’t do! Tell him, Herlin! Tell him you didn’t!”

“No, suh,” Herlin mumbled.

Jon let out a loud harrumph and shoved Herlin’s head so hard his forehead thudded against the fence rail. Jessica followed him again as he went striding back to Arnold. “He didn’t do anything! You have to believe him. He’s been loyal to you!” she ranted.

“There’s no such thing as a loyal nigger, my dear. I will not tolerate disobedience. If you don’t want to watch, go inside.” To Arnold Whistler, he said, “Give me the whip. If there’s punishment to be given out to one of my niggers, I will be the one to do it.”

Hysterically, Jessica grabbed at him again. “You can’t do this! You’re wrong! Jon!”

“Go inside!” He yanked his arm away and took the whip from Arnold.

As forcefully as she could, using both hands, Jessica shoved him, causing him to take several steps sideways. “Don’t! You bastard! How can you do this to him? Herlin has done nothing wrong!”

“I told you to go inside!” Jon pushed her, just as forcefully as she had shoved him.

Jessica staggered, but quickly regained her balance. He took his position behind Herlin—the position to begin striking. This time she clung desperately. “Please, Jon, please! Flogging is illegal! You can’t!”

Her threat didn’t deter him. Again he easily dislodged her and pushed her away.

Raging, using every ounce of strength she could muster, Jessica shoved him from the back. “You horrible, vile bastard!” she screamed. “You are no better than the devil. I hate you! I hate you!”

With ferocity in his expression she had never seen before, Jon turned on her. He raised his arm and swung it backhanded. It stopped less than an inch from her jaw, so close Jessica’s eyes crossed looking at the cloth of his coat sleeve. She’d never heard his tone more wicked than it was when he spoke. “I told you to go inside. Go now, or I will beat you right here!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she cried.

“Don’t tempt me! It will give me great pleasure to finally teach you obedience, too. The only reason I haven’t is out of respect for your father. I have had enough of you and your mouth. Shut up and go back in the house, or so help me…”

As his voice trailed off, his powerful arm propelled toward her again and again, coming closer and closer with each forceful swing. She stepped back, but he advanced on her. The last thrust connected with her cheek, but the driving force behind it, halted just in time, so all she felt was the brush of his sleeve. A sharp cry escaped her. Then his fingers were around her throat, curling in, tightening. She stared into his narrowed eyes, feeling the constriction pressing in on her, and she tried to take a breath, but couldn’t.

Just as suddenly as he grabbed her neck, with the heel of his hand pressed firmly to the bone at the base of her throat, he shoved her. “Go back inside!”

Jessica flailed, lost her balance and fell. The pain of hitting the ground didn’t register. What she did notice was Jon standing over her, glaring down at her. He was going to kick her. She was sure of it. Scrambling frantically, she backed away as fast as she could, and she tried to get up, but got caught in her skirt.

Jon was still hovering over her, holding the whip straight out like an extension of his arm, pointing toward the house. “Get out of my sight!” he roared.

Ditter was suddenly there, offering her a hand. As Jessica got to her feet, Jon once again turned on Herlin. He got behind him, like before, and wrenched his head back. Jessica’s terror didn’t outweigh her need to protect Herlin. But this time, Ditter’s grip was firm and he wouldn’t let go. Jessica could do nothing but watch.

Herlin started to struggle. He flailed and kicked as much as he could against his bindings. This told Jessica Jon was really hurting him. In the melee, Herlin’s boot heel connected hard with Jon’s ankle.

“You son of a bitch!” Jon screeched. He grabbed his leg and lurched. The whip dropped from his hand and he fell to his knees. As he struggled to rise, he slammed his elbow into the back of Herlin’s head. Herlin groaned loudly.

The next thing Jessica knew, Jon was wolfishly growling, swiping up the whip and gaining his feet again. He limped back to the spot where he would stand to carry out the punishment. The look on his face was pleased, as though in a warped, twisted way, he was relishing what he was about to do. All the while he ran the thick, leather tails of the whip through his fingers and across his hand. He turned around, raised the whip and using the strength of his entire arm, slammed it into Herlin’s naked back.

The crack was loud. Herlin cried out, his body jerked and a thin diagonal streak of blood appeared. Jon raised the whip and sent it sailing into Herlin’s back a second time. Another stripe of red criss-crossed the first. A third and fourth blow came. Herlin’s body dropped, sagging against his bindings.

“Please, please stop! Oh please!” Jessica shrieked.

Suddenly the whip was aimed directly at her. “I told you to go inside! Get out of here now!”

Jon’s voice was so quiet, Jessica’s fear of him intensified. Covering her mouth to hide her sobs, she turned and fled.

The crack of the whip sounded behind her. She didn’t see Ruth, who she assumed was hidden somewhere with the rest of the children, but she raced past Martha, who stood helplessly transfixed on the kitchen stoop. She held tightly to Willy, whose face was buried in her skirt.

Jessica ran through the house and up the stairs to her room. There, she closed the window and covered her ears, but she could still hear the endless cracks of that horrid whip. She could still hear Herlin’s agonized wails.

Finally, there was silence. Jessica opened her window and peered out. Jon stood behind Herlin, and yanked his head back. Herlin’s entire back was raw, smeared and dripping in line after criss-crossed line.

The sick gratification in Jon’s tone was unmistakable when he announced, “Gentlemen, it seems he hasn’t learned his lesson yet!”

The whip crashed again, and again, and again.

* * *

“That’ll do,” Jon said.

From her window, Jessica heard Jon order Wally and Ditter to cut Herlin free and take him to his cabin. He said, “You make sure he knows I expect him at his post tomorrow morning, or I will beat him again.” To his gloating Klan friends, he said affably, “May I offer you gentlemen some refreshments?”

All four of them accepted Jon’s invitation.

Once they were inside, Jessica went to the top of the stairs and crouched low behind the banister. From there, as long as the parlor door was open, she could hear them.

“Help yourselves to whiskey,” Jon addressed his companions, chuckling mildly. “As you see I have that nigger’s blood on my hands. I need to wash up. I shouldn’t be long.”

While Jon was gone, Jessica listened. They were speaking of Herlin. The reason they came for him was because he’d been seen holding meetings late at night in Shanty Town. They believed he was rallying support for an uprising against the Klan. The whole concept was preposterous, but that wasn’t what caused all the color to drain from Jessica’s face. In the last month Herlin had been in Shanty Town three times distributing money she manipulated out of Jon! Herlin was flayed raw because of her!