Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (18 page)

It took Jon an inordinately long time to wash his hands. Darkness was descending by the time he returned. The moment the parlor door closed behind him, Jessica flew. If he heard her, if he came out of the parlor and tried to stop her, he would have to beat her, too! As she ran past she could hear their increasingly loud laughter and the clink of crystal. When he finally emerged, she knew Jon would be drunk, without a thought in his mind for Herlin, for her, or anyone else.

No one was in the kitchen. Outside of it, not a soul was in sight either. Even the stable appeared dark and deserted. She ran the entire way to Herlin and Martha’s cabin. From inside she could hear Willy crying. Lightly she knocked.

“Who’s dere?” Martha called out.

“It’s Jessica. I’ve come to check on Herlin.”

She could hear a scuffling from beyond the door, and Willy’s whimpers turned into a prolonged wail.

“Please, Martha.” Jessica raised her voice. “I’ve brought medicine.”

Martha opened the door, but only a crack. “He gonna be fine,” she said.

“Please, let me come in. I have salve and bandages.”

“He’s sleepin’,” Martha said. “I don’t wanna wake ’im.”

“Oh, of course not. I didn’t think.” Jessica held up her bundle. “I hope these will help. Is Willy alright?”

“He be scared, dat’s all. He saw da whole thing. But he’s gonna be fine, too. We’s all gonna be fine.”

Martha opened the door wide enough for Jessica to shove the bundle through. In the brief moment, she caught a glimpse of Herlin. He was lying in bed, on his stomach. His eyes were closed. Blankets covered him to his neck, hiding his damaged flesh. Willy was sitting beside him with his little fists rubbing his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Martha,” Jessica murmured. “I’m so very sorry the captain did this.”

“We knows ya is,” Martha said.

“If you need anything, anything at all, please tell me. I will get whatever you need to you.”

“Thank ya, Miss Jessica.”

Martha started to close the door, but before she did Jessica noticed a white metal basin on the table beside the lantern. There was a rag hanging over the side of it, ravaged with smeared blood. The water in the bowl was a sickening, dark pink.

* * *

It was still very early when Jessica got out of bed, but the sun was bright. She hadn’t slept and knew she wouldn’t. With the horrid events of the previous day still replaying in her mind she finished dressing and went to her window. All the way from her room she could see the blood stains on the fence where Herlin had been tied. But her attention was redirected.

Herlin was there, walking across the yard toward the stable. She was surprised by the lightness of his step, but as he approached a tree, he reached out to lean against the trunk, as if without that support he might keel over. Wally was running after him. Eventually Herlin pushed himself away from the tree and side by side the two men, very slowly, carried onward.

Jessica flew through the house, out the kitchen door, and across the lawn. Herlin and Wally were almost to the stable when she called out, “Herlin!” She kept running until she reached them. “Herlin, are you alright?”

“I’s fine, Miss Jessica,” he said.

“I’m so sorry, Herlin. This is my fault.”

“No, it ain’t,” he said. “Don’t you worry none ’bout me now.”

“You will not work today,” Jessica told him firmly. “Whatever duties you are supposed to do, I will do them for you. You need time to heal. You can stay in the stable in case the captain comes, but I insist on doing your chores.”

Herlin’s eyes widened. “Miss Jessica, ya cain’t do dat.”

“Yes, I can. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

“I’s supposed ta drive da cap’n ta Nashville,” Herlin said.

“Nashville? Fine. We go to Nashville. I will drive.”

“Miss Jessica, dis won’t work. Da cap’n won’t let ya do dat.”

“Oh yes, he will!”

“Oh no, he won’t!” Jon’s sudden appearance in the stable doorway caused Jessica to take a hasty step back.

“Your gestures are noble, but unacceptable,” he went on. “You will not do Herlin’s chores and you will not drive me to Nashville.”

He advanced on her. Jessica automatically backed away. “Don’t come near me! You vile, disgusting excuse for a man!”

“Go back to the house,” he ordered.

“No! I will do everything you order Herlin to do today! The only way you can stop me is to beat me to death. You’re nothing. You’re worse than nothing. You’re—”

“Damn it, Jessica! God damn it!” Jon cut her off. “For once will you just listen to me! Just this once!”

“I will never listen to you!” She forced herself to cackle. “You’re nothing but a coward who preys upon those less fortunate than you. You’re too foul to even be considered a human being! You’re the scum of the earth! You’re—”

“Jessica!” he barked. “Go! This is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous!” She forced another haughty crow. “See how much of a coward you are! You threaten to beat me, but you don’t! I guess you need your Klan brothers to help you. You need them to tie me up first, so I can’t fight back!”

“Please, Miss Jessica,” Herlin broke in. “Please do as da cap’n say. I’s fine.” The poor man sounded terrified.

Jon’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t come after her. Instead he took hold of Herlin’s collar. “Will it change your mind if I threaten to beat Herlin again? Go inside or I will.”

“You are hateful!” Jessica marched over to him and grabbed his arm in an attempt to yank it from Herlin. Her strength, however, was no match for his. He easily shoved her away. Jessica had to flail to keep her balance. It was then, while he stood there with his arm outstretched to ward her off, that she noticed the bandage encircling his wrist.

“I see you hurt yourself, Captain,” she spouted. “How did you do that? Lynching people? Did you get a little rope burn?”

“Go inside!” Jon yelled.

“Let Herlin go!”

“Go inside!”

“Let Herlin go!”

“Miss Jessica, please…” Herlin pleaded.

Jon did let go of Herlin, at the same time giving him a hearty push. “There, are you satisfied now?” he said smugly.

“Oohh! I hate you! I hate you!” Jessica cried.

“Yes, I do believe you’ve told me that enough in the last six months for me to realize it,” he said blandly.

His arrogant sarcasm was enough! With a vicious howl, Jessica went after him. In that hysterical moment all she wanted to do was hurt him. She kicked him. Her arms swung madly. Some of her blows landed. One cracked him hard across the jaw.

“Jessica, stop it! Stop it, now!” he yelled and caught her up.

She tried to escape his unyielding arms. She struggled and pummeled his back as hard as she could.

“Calm down!” he said sternly. “Calm down, Jessica!”

There was only one defense left to her. She made an elaborate attempt to draw her knee up, to ram it between his legs, but he moved too swiftly. His movement, however, was to her advantage because she was able to wrench free. With a loud cry she shoved him as hard as she could.

He stumbled and fell into the fence. “God damn it!” he muttered.

Jessica expected him to come after her, but he didn’t. He remained there, by the fence, bowed over and cringing. He had his bandaged wrist cradled to his chest. Another pain-induced groan came out of him, but Jessica had no sympathy.

“I hope someday someone murders you!” she bellowed. “I hope you die a slow and painful death! And even that wouldn’t be punishment enough for you!”

His scowl as he straightened told Jessica this time when he came after her, he was going to do something terrible. There was no question in her mind. She needed to say something that would hurt him profusely, something that would cut him through, something that would devastate him, something to wound what little bit of a soul he had.

“I’m glad I had a miscarriage,” she screamed. “The child would have been evil because it was yours. It would have been ugly, horrid, the child of a devil, the lowest filth of the earth. I’m glad I didn’t bring your spawn into this world. I’m glad your son is dead!”

She was breathing heavily, waiting for his response. He stared at her without making a sound. He didn’t move either. But what she said affected him. She’d seen him react this same way before. With each breath he took, his chest visibly rose. With each breath, his nostrils flared.

Seconds ticked by. His eyes narrowed and turned to ice. Her instincts told her she needed to run as quickly as possible. She needed to get as far away from him as she could because this time he truly would beat her to death. But he still just stood there, unmoving.

Finally, he opened his mouth. Jessica took a defensive step backwards. His tone didn’t match his evil expression. His voice was little more than a gravelly whisper. “Get away from me, Jessica.” He closed his eyes. “Get away from me!”

Only then did she flee. She ran as fast as she could, through the house and to her room. There, she fell face down on her bed. Pounding her fists into the mattress, feeling as though every inch of her had just splintered into a million pieces, she cried, “I’m sorry, Evan, my sweet little baby. My precious little boy! I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it! Oh my God… oh my God, my son…
I didn’t mean it…
”

Just as twilight began to descend, the spook emerged from the woods that bordered the Emerson farm. It wasn’t typical for him to appear before dark, but this farm was secluded, and the fading sun would hide him well enough. He’d been watching Trent Emerson work methodically behind the plow for a while. He didn’t make his move until it was obvious Trent was finished for the day.

He rode swiftly across the newly churned field, anticipating the moment Trent would hear him and turn. It didn’t take long. The setting sun didn’t hide the shock or apprehension emanating from the sweaty man. The spook continued on, not stopping until he was a mere twenty feet from where Trent stood. “Good evening, Mr. Emerson.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Trent said.

Had Trent been able to see beneath his kerchief, he would have seen the spook smirk. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not in the Klan anymore,” Trent said defensively.

“Yes, I know.”

Trent’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“I’m returning a favor,” the spook said.

“I made a mistake.” Trent scowled.

“Perhaps,” the spook said, “but I am still in your debt.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Trent spouted. “I saw the gun in your left hand. You would have killed me if I didn’t let you pass.”

The spook shrugged. “I might have. Does it really matter?”

“That depends on what you want,” Trent said.

“I’ve come to warn you. The leaders of the Klan believe you’ve betrayed them, and they want you dead.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. My father would know if that were true.”

“Your father doesn’t know because the Klan chose not to involve him. They believe he will defend you and try to stop them. What father wouldn’t?” The spook paused. “Stone has ordered Jon Kinsley to kill you.”

Trent laughed. “He won’t succeed. That man is a fool and a drunk.”

“Perhaps, but Kinsley won’t hesitate to do what Stone asks of him, regardless of your relationship to his wife.”

“I’m not afraid of Kinsley,” Trent snapped.

“Don’t be stupid, Trent. Don’t become what you despise.”

“How do you know who I am? How do you know who Kinsley is? How do you know about Kinsley being married to my sister? Who are you?” Trent demanded.

The spook ignored Trent’s questions. “During the day you can visit your sister. I doubt Kinsley will try anything in broad daylight. But don’t go near Bent Oak Manor at night. I want you to stay off the roads. Don’t go to the tavern and don’t go near Shanty Town. Keep in mind, what Kinsley doesn’t accomplish, others in the Klan won’t hesitate to do on his behalf.”

“Why should I listen to you?” Trent scoffed.

“Because your life is at risk.”

Trent shook his head. “I can help, you know. I can warn people with you, stop the Klan’s raids… together we can—”

“No!”

“You can’t stop me!” Trent retorted.

In one quick flash, the spook drew his revolver and took aim at Trent’s thigh. “You have fields to plant, a house to keep, a fiancée to court, a sister who needs you. You can’t afford to be bedridden. Stay away from the Klan or that is where you will find yourself.”

“You won’t shoot me,” Trent growled.

“If this is the only way I can keep you from being foolish, I will,” the spook said.

“Who are you?” Trent repeated.

The spook lowered his revolver. “Give me Stone’s full name and I will tell you who I am.”

Trent’s eyes opened wider. “I don’t know it. If I did, I would tell you.” Squinting against the fading sunlight, Trent asked, “Do I know you?”

“Yes, you do.”

“I did know you when you were Nash,” Trent spouted, “but you’re not Nash. You’re not the original spook. You’re nothing but an imposter.”

“Imposter?” The spook harrumphed. “Funny choice of words coming from you, don’t you think?”

“Nash is dead!” Trent snapped.

When the spook responded, his accent changed to sound like he was from Boston. “Did it evah accuah ta you the body recovahed from the pahsonage wasn’t mine? Stone figuahed it out.”

“Nash?” Trent jaw fell open. “Holy shit! You’re alive?”

The spook didn’t reply.

“You are Nash, aren’t you?” Trent asked, stunned.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”

“Why do you want to know Stone’s name?” Trent demanded.

“Without him the Klan will be no more.”

“Do you intend to kill him?” Trent asked.

“No. I won’t kill him,” the spook said.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t.”

Trent glared. “If I find out Stone’s name, how will I contact you? How will I reach you?”

“Tell your sister.”

For the first time Trent moved, taking hasty steps toward the spook. His entire expression twisted in rage. “How is my sister involved in this? You leave her out of this!”

As Trent advanced, the spook directed Midnight to back away. He raised his revolver. “Don’t come any closer, Trent!”

The spook didn’t lower his weapon until Trent halted. “Your sister is not involved. She believes I’m dead. She is safe. Don’t worry.”

Angrily Trent spat, “I swear to God if anything happens to her, I don’t care who you are, I will kill you!”

“And so you should.” The spook holstered his gun and tugged on the reins to bring Midnight about. “Good evening, Trent,” he said. “Keep your distance from Kinsley and the rest of the Klan. And don’t impersonate me again. You’re lucky the Klan didn’t get close enough to see you only have one arm. I did.”

* * *

The Klan gathered together near the Crescent River Bridge to conclude their plans for the night. Less than fifteen minutes later they were outside the home of a man named Marcus Bentley. Jon Kinsley called for him to come out, but it became clear that either Bentley wasn’t home or he had no intention of revealing himself.

A torch thrown by one of the Klansmen landed on the roof of the small shack. The sun dried, wooden shingles caught easily. A second later, the door opened and two terrified women emerged. One of them was older, middle aged, her body slightly plump. The other was a young teenager. They were arm in arm, clinging to each other. The girl was crying quietly. As they moved farther away from the house, Jon hollered, “Where is Marcus?”

“He ain’t here!” the older woman cried. “Please don’t hurt us. Please.”

“We’re not after you,” Harry Simpson said. “We only want Marcus.”

“Tell us where Marcus is,” Jon demanded.

“I don’t know,” the older woman said. “I swear.”

“When do you expect him?” Jon asked.

“Later tonight—”

“No, ma’am, don’t tell ’em,” the girl interrupted. Her terrified eyes turned to Simpson. “Please don’t hurt ma fadder. Please!”

“What is your name?” Harry asked.

“Bess,” she said.

Harry turned to the older woman. “And yours? Are you his wife?”

“Helen. Yes,” she said.

From behind them, Jon heard Hughes say, “These women know nothing. Let’s go. This night is finished.”

Simpson bowed his head and said, “Good night, ladies.”

The Klansmen mounted their horses and took off, leaving the woman and the girl standing in the dirt yard, staring after them.

They hadn’t gone far when Whistler bellowed, “Ed, Jon, Abe, Harry, wait!”

The four separated from the rest of the group and joined Whistler.

Keeping his voice lowered, so he wouldn’t be overheard, Whistler said, “Ed, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Ath far ath I’m contherned, thith night ith not even clothe to being finithed.”

“What are you going to do to them?” Harry asked.

“Quit being so righteous,” Arnold barked. “Come on men, let’s go!”

Before they could move, a thick, gravelly voice rang out, “Kinsley! To me! Now!” One of the Klansmen had separated himself from the pack—a broad-shouldered man—and his impatience was evident.

“Go on,” Whistler sniggered. “Harry, looks like you’ve finally been replaced. First it was Houser, then Simpson, now Kinsley is Stone’s pet!”

“It’s about time!” Simpson chortled. “Freedom at last!”

“What do you think he wants from me now?” Jon whined.

“Go on,” Whistler said. “Get it over with. We’ll catch up with you later.”

“Believe me,” Jon said, “I would much rather stay out here with you. I’m in the mood for some sport.”

Murphy slapped Webster on the rump, causing the horse to skitter sideways. “We’ll thave you the thpoilth!”

Murphy’s laughter rang out along with his companions as they turned their horses around.

* * *

Jon caught up to Stone and rode the rest of the way to the abandoned barn beside him. He knew exactly what Stone wanted to talk about. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. Not a word was spoken, however, until they were the only two left in the barn. Jon had taken his hood off, but Stone kept his in place.

For the longest time, Stone just stood there, scrutinizing him. As the seconds ticked by Jon grew decidedly antsy. He supposed the Imperial Wizard could tell because he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, why?” Jon said.

Stone continued to stare at him. “You remind me of someone.”

Feigning humor, Jon chortled, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Stone harrumphed. “Good thing. He was an officer I met once during the war. He had a religious sounding name, something like Hope or Faith. No, that’s not right.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember exactly, but it was an odd name. He was a spy. If I remember correctly, he obtained a great deal of information from the North that helped ensure our success in several battles. I heard he was killed at Gettysburg. He was introduced to me by General Seth McLean. Do you know him?”

Jon shook his head. “The name is familiar, but no, I don’t know him.”

“Hmm,” Stone mused, “I thought you would. You’re living in his family’s estate.”

Jon shrugged. “I bought Bent Oak Manor from the government. It was abandoned.”

Stone shook his white-coned head. “Bent Oak Manor belongs to the McLeans. The rest of the family moved west before the war. The general, of course, left home many years before that. He fought in Texas, I believe.” He paused. “You were with Jeb Stuart, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You were an officer, too, weren’t you? I can tell by the way you direct the Sons. It’s one of the reasons we are as successful as we are.” He chuckled mildly. “I have thought so for a while now. What division were you with?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Stone said. “I think you know the real reason I want to speak with you.”

Jon nodded. “Trent Emerson.”

Stone’s head turned abruptly toward the door of the barn. “What was that?”

“What?”

“That noise? Did you hear it?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Jon said.

They waited in silence, listening intently, but the only noise was the crickets chirping outside. Eventually, Stone focused on him again. “You seem agitated tonight. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Jon defended.

The Imperial Wizard’s barely visible, dark eyes narrowed. “You’ve had ample opportunity to deal with Trent, but you haven’t. I realize your relationship makes it difficult. It leads me to believe I should assign someone else with the task. I intend to speak with Hughes tomorrow.”

“I apologize, sir,” Jon said. “You are right. It won’t be necessary to speak with Hughes. I will take care of it.”

“When?”

“Give me two weeks. It will be done.”

Stone audibly sighed. “You know I don’t like this. Trent has been a member of the Klan since the beginning, and until recently he’s been loyal. But I am worried about the men. We can’t afford to lose anymore. Treason is—” He cut himself off then continued, “There’s nothing I despise more than traitors.”

“I understand,” Jon said.

“I will give you two weeks, but if I hear another report about Trent aiding the spook I will talk to Hughes. Most likely he will enlist Whistler and Murphy, and we both know how quickly things will happen then.”

“I will get it done,” Jon said. “I assure you it will be done.”

“Since you are in such a hurry to get out of here, go on,” Stone said.

But Jon didn’t have a chance to go anywhere. Harry Simpson came barreling through the door absent his hood, frantically calling out, “Colonel! Colonel! Stoney! Stoney! You have to stop them—”

“Simpson!” Stone roared.

Harry Simpson spun around, and startled when he saw Jon.

For a long moment no one spoke.

Jon grabbed his hood. “I was on my way out.”