Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (20 page)

Jessica had to stop to catch her breath, thinking as she did, she needed more exercise. It was then that she heard the horses.

At first she assumed it was Jon, Ditter and Herlin returning, and her heart quickened in anticipation. But as the horses drew closer, and she rounded the corner of the house, her anticipation turned into outright terror.

Jon, Ditter and Herlin were not coming up the drive. Instead it was a group of Klansmen, all decked out in their robes and hoods.

Jessica raced toward them, in an attempt to reach Chelsea before they did, but she was too far away. Still mounted, the Klansmen surrounded the little girl, trapping her between the many legs of their horses. Chelsea started to cry.

“Get away from her!” Jessica fumed. “You’re not welcome here! Leave us alone!”

“We’ve come for Herlin Jefferson,” one of them said. “You send him on out here, and we’ll go.”

“Herlin’s not here. Even if he was I wouldn’t send him out to you! Let that baby alone!”

“This is Herlin’s daughter, ain’t it?” Jessica didn’t know the voice, but that didn’t mean anything. The man dismounted and crouched down in front of Chelsea. “Hi, little girl,” he said. “Don’t be scared. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Frantically, Jessica yelled, “She’s not Herlin’s daughter. Let her be!” She tried to shove between horses, to crawl under a thick neck, to get Chelsea, but the Klansmen were easily able to maneuver to keep her out and keep Chelsea in.

The Klansman who dismounted, picked Chelsea up and handed her off to another, so he could climb onto his horse again. He took her back, tucking her under one arm like a sack of grain. Chelsea dangled there, perched against his hip, and her wails came in earnest.

“No!” Jessica screamed. “Let her alone. She’s not Herlin’s daughter! She’s not!”

“When you see Herlin you tell him if he doesn’t give himself up, he’ll never see his girl alive again,” the Klansman barked. He spurred his horse around and headed away, with the rest of them following on his heels.

Adrenalin carried Jessica. She ran faster than she’d ever run around the house to the rear and the kitchen porch, screaming, “Ruth! Ruth! Ruth! The Klan! The Klan! They took Chelsea!”

Ruth came out onto the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel. It fell and then she was chasing after Jessica, all the way to the stable.

Wally and the other stable hands were long gone for the night. Jessica had no choice but to saddle Jasmine on her own. Frantically she worked at it, but the darkness and the state of her panic was making it impossible. All she was able to do was fumble.

Ruth was yelling, “Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“I have to go after them!” Jessica cried. “I don’t know what else to do!”

Frantic and frustrated, Jessica cried out again. She didn’t hear the horse approaching until it came barreling right through the stable door. The big, dark animal snorted loudly. At the same moment the wall lantern Ruth was struggling to light flared brightly.

“Oh, Captain! Captain!” Ruth cried.

“Jessica!” Jon exclaimed. In one fluid leap he was off Webster and dashing toward her. Her hysteria must have been evident. He clasped her arms and, sounding as alarmed as she was, asked, “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“They took her!” Jessica screamed. She shoved him away to get back to her task.

“Took who? Ruth, what happened?”

“Chelsea!” Jessica cried. “The Klan was here! They took her! They’ll kill her!”

“When?” Jon spun her to face him again. She tried to break free, but his grip tightened and she couldn’t. “Which way? Which way did they go?”

“East! They went east!”

“Stay here! Don’t follow me!” As easily as he dismounted, he grabbed the reins of his sorely fatigued horse and hurled himself up onto its back. For a brief second, his eyes flitted back and forth between Ruth and Jessica. “No one follows me!” he said sternly. “Do you understand? No one! I will get her.”

Jessica ran out of the barn after him. Ruth was right behind her. Jon didn’t keep to the drive, but cut off the corner of the property to get to the road faster, and he was moving very, very fast. She stared after him, seeing his blousy, white shirt billowing in the wind. Long after she could no longer spot the rest of him, that white spot was still there. Then, like a falling star it disappeared.

It was odd to see him without a coat on, but Jessica was too preoccupied to think about it for more than a second. Racing back into the stable, she headed straight for Jasmine’s stall. Again Ruth followed her.

“No, Miss Jessica! No! The captain said to stay here. He said he’ll bring Chelsea back. I can’t let you go!” Ruth cried. Tears were streaming down the older woman’s cheeks. She clamped both fists around Jasmine’s bridle.

“He doesn’t care about Chelsea, Ruth. He won’t bring her back. I have to go!” Jessica implored.

Ruth’s distress was painful to watch, as again she begged Jessica not to go. Jessica’s heart was hammering. Her hands shook uncontrollably. But she knew Ruth was right. Even if she could catch up to the Klan, there was no chance she would ever be able to get Chelsea away from them. There was nothing to do but pray, and hope Jon would, for once, do what he promised.

“I’m so sorry, Ruth. I’m so sorry,” Jessica’s throat was so tight, she could barely breathe.

“The captain will find her,” Ruth whimpered. “He’ll bring her home. I know he will.”

Over and over Jessica repeated Ruth’s words in her mind, but she didn’t believe it. She kept picturing the whip lacerating Herlin’s raw back. She remembered the story of the little boy the Klan so ruthlessly gunned down. She thought of all the murders and other horrors the Klan committed. And she knew when Jon found Chelsea he wouldn’t rescue her, but instead would participate in, and undoubtedly enjoy, whatever horrible torture those sick, disgusting men intended for the innocent little girl.

* * *

It wasn’t difficult for Jon to catch up to the Klansmen. By the time he spotted them, they were little more than four miles from Bent Oak Manor. In the moonlight, he could see the little girl tucked under the arm of one of the white-costumed men.

Keeping his sights on Chelsea, Jon continued his pursuit from higher grounds, waiting patiently for the Klansman holding the girl to separate himself somewhat from the rest of the group. Eventually the man ended up in the rear, and Jon took his chance. He tore off to the right. As soon as he was abreast of them, he turned and barreled perpendicularly toward his target.

Controlling his stallion with his thighs, he drove right into the other man’s horse. The hit came at an angle, catching the Klansman off guard and throwing the horse into a spin. At the same time he swung his arm, backhanded, across the rider’s jaw. The man cried out and, as Jon had anticipated, he let go of Chelsea. She started to fall and she started to scream. Jon caught her dress with one fist. He hauled her in, tucking her against his body in a manner similar to how the Klansman had held her. He was already tugging the right rein, bringing the stallion about, and then he kicked in hard and took off.

Heading straight and moving fast, Jon released the reins briefly to adjust Chelsea in his arms. He settled her in front of him with her little legs straddling his waist. Almost instantly her terrorized cries quieted.

All he needed to do was get to the creek, where, if he had gained enough distance not to be seen, he could hide his trail. From there he could turn back toward Bent Oak Manor.

Behind him, the raucous shouts from the disrupted Klansmen rang out loudly. The thunder of pursuing horses rumbled and vibrated. The inevitable pops and cracks of revolver shots followed. Someone fired a rifle. A second shot followed the first. The booms, even in the distance, were loud enough to cause his ears to ring.

Clutching Chelsea with one arm and guiding the stallion with the other, he crouched as low in the saddle as he could without crushing the child, and flew as fast as the powerful horse beneath him could go.

Jessica had pulled chairs up to the opened parlor windows. She’d set a lantern on the table nearby. Because of the darkness outside, they wouldn’t necessarily be able to see someone coming up the drive at Bent Oak Manor, but with the windows open, they would be able to hear.

Ruth had been weeping steadily on and off ever since Jon raced off to find Chelsea. When she heard Ruth sob yet again, Jessica grabbed her hand. It was then that they heard the pounding hooves of a rapidly approaching horse.

Jessica yanked Ruth up out of the chair with one hand and grabbed the lantern with the other. Together they ran through the foyer and out onto the porch. They reached the edge of it at the same moment the giant black horse stopped dead from its run, right at the foot of the stairs.

The first thing Jessica noticed was the white foamy froth coming from the stallion’s mouth. Ruth was already moving, running down the steps. She went right to the side of the horse and reached up.

Chelsea slid out of Jon’s arms into Ruth’s and immediately began to cry. An anguished sob escaped Ruth as she clutched the little girl tightly. Without a word, she started up the porch steps.

“Ruth! She’s bleeding!” Jessica screeched as she raised the lantern high. Bright red smears covered the insides of Chelsea’s stockings from her knees to her ankles.

“Oh no,” Ruth groaned, but she didn’t stop. She was up the stairs and in the house.

“They didn’t hurt her,” Jon said.

What he said didn’t register. With seething, heated fury, blaming him unconditionally and thoroughly, Jessica turned around at the top of the stairs. From there, with her lantern held high, she was unable to see more than his outline. He made no attempt to dismount. He just sat there.

“You caused this, you and your disgustingly warped sense of humanity. I wish you were dead! I hope you rot in Hell!” she screamed at him.

Without another glance, without waiting for him to respond, she went into the house and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

In the kitchen, after first inspecting, then holding and cooing to her granddaughter, Ruth finally let Jessica take Chelsea to peel away the filthy little dress and stockings. Meanwhile Ruth drew water and filled the small tub. Jessica took the irreparable garments, held out in front of her as if they would scald her, and dumped them outside the kitchen door to be burned with the rest of the trash.

Once Chelsea was belly deep in the warm water, her cries ended and her laughter began. Both Ruth and Chelsea examined every inch of her, but they couldn’t find a mark on her. Briefly Jessica wondered where the blood had come from, but she dismissed the thought quickly. Chelsea was alive, unharmed and safe, and that was all that mattered.

The next worry was Jacob. The boy had been with them in the parlor at first, but then he ran off. They didn’t know where he’d gone and he didn’t come when they called for him. Ruth believed he was trying to rescue Chelsea. Jessica could only hope and pray Ruth was wrong, and Jacob was just hiding somewhere in or near the house.

While Ruth scrubbed her granddaughter, Jessica poured coffee for them and settled on the bench where she could make faces at Chelsea and provoke her giggles.

The kitchen door swung open. Jessica looked up expecting to see Jon, but it wasn’t Jon. It was Jacob.

“Where have you been?” Ruth scolded.

“Mammy… um… Miss Jesska…” the boy stammered.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Ruth ranted. “When I call you, you come! Do you know how worried I’ve been? Thank heaven you’re here now.”

“Yes, thank heaven,” Jessica repeated, hoping to calm Ruth, who looked like she was about to weep again. Jacob, too, was agitated, shuffling and fidgeting. Naturally, Jessica assumed, he was reacting to his grandmother’s tirade. “Don’t be upset, Jacob. Your mammy’s not angry with you. She’s just worried. We’re both glad you’re home safe. Come sit by me. Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink? How about some milk?”

Still fidgeting, Jacob said, “Mammy, Miss Jesska… um… the cap’n fell down.”

The little boy’s fearful expression caused an instant pang of anxiety in Jessica. Ignoring it, she chuckled and shook her head. “He has a bad leg. He probably just tripped. Don’t worry about him.”

Ruth’s attention was with Chelsea. For a long moment no one spoke. The only sounds in the room were splashing tub water, Chelsea’s giggles and Jacob’s boots scuffing the floorboards.

Jacob broke the silence. In little more than a whisper, as if he expected to get in trouble, he said, “Miss Jesska, he didn’t trip. He felled off his horse.”

Jessica forced a laugh. “You mean the horse threw him off?” Under her breath, she added, “Serves him right.”

“No, Miss Jesska, not like that. The horse didn’t do nothin’. I mean, anything. I mean… I mean… he just felled off,” Jacob stammered.

“What do you mean, Jacob? When did he fall off his horse?” Jessica asked. Once again a spike of apprehension struck her. To hide it, she leaned over to splash Chelsea, who gleefully shrieked in response.

“Just now.” Jacob wiggled. “I was hidin’ under the porch. I know I’m not supposed to, but I did anyway. And I saw him bring Chelsea home. Then after y’all came inside he just sort of leaned over and felled off the horse.”

Jacob, seeing that he had their attention, went on, “He’s laying down in the yard beside the horse like he’s sleepin’. Only, I don’t think he’s sleepin’, cause I said ‘hello Cap’n’ to him like I’m supposed to, and he didn’t answer me back. He hasn’t never not answered me back, even when he’s being all mean like he gets sometimes. He always at least makes a funny noise, like he growls at me when I say hello to him. And also I don’t think he’s sleepin’ ’cause nobody would sleep like that, with his one foot still stuck in the stirrup…” Jacob’s voice trailed off.

Ruth’s eyes were wide with panic. Jessica rose and said casually, “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll take a look.”

She grabbed the lantern and sauntered back through the house. At the edge of the porch she leaned out, holding the lantern so it would illuminate Webster, who hadn’t moved. He was still there at the foot of the stairs. Whether her body shivered from a chill in the air or the sudden feeling of unease in her stomach, Jessica didn’t know. She squinted, peering into the darkness, staying on the porch as if it were a safe haven from whatever strange eeriness was out there. She could smell the sweaty horse and something else—a vague, unfamiliar, metallic odor. Then, as her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she saw Jon’s boot, just like Jacob described, twisted awkwardly, stuck in the stirrup.

Jessica ran down the stairs, holding the lantern high. Jon was lying partially on his back, partially on his side, facing away from her. His lower arm was stretched out in front of him, the other one was curled awkwardly behind his back. His good leg was bent and crossed under the bad one, which was the one in the stirrup. She could only see part of his face, because it too was turned away and oddly angled into the dirt. The one eye she could see was closed.

What caused Jessica to gasp wasn’t the way he was laying there, but rather, the dark red puddle underneath his body, so thick that at one point it began to cut a path into the sandy dirt, trailing away from him like a slowly moving snake.

“Ruth!” she bellowed. But she wouldn’t have needed to yell. Ruth had followed her. She was on the porch carrying towel-wrapped Chelsea. Jacob was beside her.

“Jacob,” Ruth said, “you run to Martha’s house as fast as you can, and you tell her to come to the big house right away. Then you go to Wally’s and you tell him and Sadie to come, too. Go quickly, Jacob. Go!”

The boy took off, and Jessica looked down once again at her husband. The horse whinnied and sidestepped. “Shhh, Webster, be still,” she commanded absently as she knelt in the dirt and set the lantern down. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch Jon’s jaw. In the dim lamplight his skin looked ghostly pale. “Jon?” she rasped. She had to clear her throat to find her voice. “Jon, can you hear me?”

There was no response.

She reached over his body and laid one hand on his chest. The thumping was faint, but it was there. Her other hand fluttered over his face, and she felt light breath coming from his nose, and something wet. When she drew her hand away, there was blood on her finger tips.

Looking up at the horse, Jessica noticed blood on it, too. The red smears were on the saddle and more trailed over its ribs in stripes. The stallion’s head turned toward her and in that split second she realized it was not Webster. Jon had several black stallions, but Webster was the only one she’d ever seen him ride.

Scrambling, she reached for the stirrup. Fumbling and twisting she tried to wrench Jon’s foot free. When finally she did, she tried to hold onto his leg, to set it down gently, but he was too heavy. His boot hit the ground with a thump.

“Go! Horse! Webster! Whoever you are! Go back to the barn!” The grand animal took off in the direction of the stable. Whatever its name, it had good sense.

“Ruth! We need rags, cloths, towels, anything. He’s bleeding badly!” Ruth was already a step ahead of Jessica. She was inside the house, so Jessica’s words fell on deaf ears. Hastily Jessica shimmied to Jon’s side.

“Jon!” She reached up to his face, under his chin, and turned his head toward her. “Oh no!” The exclamation flew out of her in a breathless whisper. There was blood on his face, bright red blood, running from his nose, and more, bubbling from the corner of his mouth. The two thin streams ran across his cheek, one into the hair beneath his ear, the other down the side of his throat.

As her rapidly beating heart began to pound loudly, she quickly perused his body. The front of his shirt was dry. The back of it was not. With an unsteady hand, she picked up his twisted arm and moved it, carefully but quickly, laying it on the ground in front of him. Then she pushed at his shoulder, trying to roll him enough to see his back. Silently cursing the dim lantern light she crouched lower. It took only a second to find what she expected to see, a small, roughly cut hole in the material of his shirt about halfway down his back, toward the right side of his body. It wasn’t the only one.

Her eyes centered on the second tear, higher up, just beneath his left shoulder blade. Recklessly, she lifted her skirt and tore at her petticoat. It didn’t split the way she wanted it to and she cried out in frustration. But finally, she had enough material ripped away to bunch up and press against his back. “Ruth! Please hurry!” she yelled.

Sitting there, with her hands stuffed under her husband, Jessica looked at his face again and the blood seeping from his nose, now running the opposite direction down his lip and below it. During the war, she saw a man bleeding from his nose and mouth the same way. That man died.

Hearing the door swing open and Ruth’s heels clicking on the boards of the porch, she shrieked, “Ruth! Help! He’s been shot! I don’t know what to do. What do we do?”

With her arms filled with towels, Ruth squatted beside Jessica. “Here,” she said as she replaced one of the already drenched pieces of Jessica’s petticoat with a thick cloth. She followed with a second one. “Let’s turn him over,” Ruth suggested.

Struggling, holding the towels tightly against his body, they worked together, maneuvering him, straightening his limbs and pushing him onto his stomach. While Jessica continued to hold towels firmly against his wounds, Ruth folded a soft cotton cloth, raised his head and slid it underneath, so the side of his face wouldn’t be in the pebbly dirt. It was then that they heard the faint sounds of horses leisurely coming up the drive.

“Ditter! Herlin!” Ruth shouted. “Hurry! The captain’s hurt. He’s been shot!”

“What?” Herlin exclaimed.

“Oh my God!” Ditter shrieked.

Within seconds, both men were dismounted and running over to them.

“I’ll go for the doctor!” Ditter bellowed.

While Ditter sped away, Herlin dropped to his knees across from Jessica. The panic in his eyes as he looked at Ruth scared Jessica even more. He said nothing as he roughly yanked Jon’s bloody shirt out from the belt of his trousers. With the knife he pulled from his boot, Herlin split the soggy material straight up the back.

“Dear God,” he groaned as he examined the wounds. Then he grabbed several towels from the pile and said, “Keep the pressure on. We have to try to stop the bleeding. It’s the only thing we can do until the doctor arrives. Except pray.”

* * *

Jessica didn’t recognize the doctor, but that didn’t mean much. There were several doctors in Mount Joy and she didn’t know them all. She didn’t know his young assistant either. With Herlin, Ditter and Wally’s help, they carried Jon to the kitchen and laid him on the big table. The doctor told Herlin and Ditter to stay. He needed them to hold lamps. He made the rest of them leave.

While the doctor worked on Jon, Jessica changed out of her stained clothes. She needed to scrub her hands, too. Blood was everywhere. Just seeing it made her feel sick to her stomach, and her eyes were watering so badly she could barely see what she was doing. Still, she worked at it, digging under her fingernails until every last speck of red was gone.

She returned to the foyer to find Ruth and Martha on their knees mopping blood off the floor. Some of it was in the form of foot prints. More had dripped from Jon as they brought him through the house. Sadie and Wally, they told her, had taken the children back to the cabins.