Read Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Elizabeth Courtright
Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1)
Copyright © 2015 Elizabeth Courtright
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Leah Shevelew
Year of the Book
135 Glen Avenue
Glen Rock, Pennsylvania
ISBN 13: 978-1-942430-42-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015948527
June 1871
“Gentlemen, I am here to call upon your sense of justice. I am here to ask the government to step in and stop these atrocities and to implore this committee to vote in favor of the plan laid out before you…” the speaker droned on.
General Seth McLean rolled his eyes and expelled a long, silent sigh. For the better part of an hour he’d listened to the speaker spout out gruesome tales of beatings, rapes, floggings, lynchings and other murders. These hideous crimes, the speaker said, were being carried out by a secret organization known as the Sovereign Sons of the South, allegedly a resurged faction of the Ku Klux Klan. Seth knew the history of the Klan well enough. Through government intervention, in December of 1869, the organization was disbanded. For a while the violence stopped. Within the last year it had begun again. What Seth wanted was a cup of coffee. What he didn’t want was to sit through anymore of this worthless dribble.
Impatiently his focus traveled around the conference room taking in the art work, portraits of former U.S. Presidents, symmetrically placed on dark blue walls. Near the fireplace, the country’s Red, White and Blue hung limply from a gilded pole. A carved golden eagle was perched on top. Through the window he could see the stump of the unfinished Washington Monument surrounded by blue sky. The late afternoon sunlight was causing the window glass to reflect the interior of the room. In it Seth could dimly see himself seated at the large table along with several of his fellow committee members.
“…without your support, the repercussions will be drastic. In General Reading’s plan, the military enforcement will enable…” the speaker kept going.
The committee’s purpose was to determine what federal action, if any, should be taken to thwart this newly assembled Klan. Counting Seth, there were thirteen men appointed to the task. Half of them wore well-tailored business suits befitting their lofty positions. Three were senators, two were congressmen, and there were two presidential aides—superfluous appointments, in Seth’s opinion. The other half of the committee was attired as he was, in tightly collared military dress complete with gold fringed epaulets, burgundy sashes, and plenty of bars and stars to designate their ranks. A plethora of medals was pinned to each chest—medals obtained for valor, courage and the myriad other reasons military men received such honors. A couple of these men had fought with him. They’d strategized together and stood beside him until they could stand no longer. Countless times they proved themselves worthy of those adornments, but that was all before, when they wore a different color uniform, not the hideous dark blue they were dependent upon now. The respect Seth once had for his former Confederate compatriots diminished long ago. Every last one of them had turned into a spineless yes man, bending to the authority of a government they claimed to despise.
Seth drummed his fingers on the table next to the papers in front of him. The four pages contained a detailed outline of the plan upon which the committee would be voting today. A map of the area in Tennessee where this Klan activity was occurring—a small town called Mount Joy, about thirty miles southeast of the capital city of Nashville—was included. Seth’s pages were still neatly stacked. Identical pages, an unwarrantable waste of a scrivener’s valuable time, lay spread out on the table at each chair. The rest of the committee members had read through their outlines and studied their maps. Seth hadn’t bothered.
The chairman of the committee and the author of the proposed plan, General Walter Reading, was seated at the head of the table. Seth met Reading shortly after the end of the war. His first impression was that the man looked like a squirrel. With his short, thinning hair slicked straight back, his jowly sideburns, and his thick grey mustache, he still did. Reading fought for the Union during the war and was known to be a staunch abolitionist. Before the war, he was involved with the Underground Railroad. Since the war, he’d been heavily embroiled in planning military activities under reconstruction governments. Reading considered the laws the local legislators in the southern states were putting together to be anti-black and unfair. Much of the intervention from the federal level was due to Reading’s interference. Vehemently Seth had countered many of Reading’s recommendations. Time and time again he was overruled, including by men seated here today, who knew better. More concerned with their jobs than their fellow Southerners—people they’d sworn to protect—they acceded like trained dogs, unconcerned with the damage the Union’s edicts would cause to their former homelands. There was no doubt in Seth’s mind what the outcome of this useless meeting would be. His own opposition to Reading’s absurd plan, should he choose to voice it, would be ignored.
“…too many lives will be lost if something isn’t done. This plan will produce results…”
In addition to the thirteen committee members, there were two others present. One was William Brownlow, the current governor of Tennessee. The other was the speaker, Frederick Washington. At least, Seth was pretty sure that was the name Reading used when he introduced the darkie.
With rising disgust Seth noticed how every eye at the table was glued to the colored speaker as if he were some sort of god. The most Seth could bear to give the fool was a brief glance. He looked ridiculous with his overly long, nappy hair. It reminded Seth of a picture his niece painted long ago. She was five at the time. Her picture was of the sun with flames fanning out around it. Except, in his niece’s picture, the sun was a yellow circle with orange flames, not a dark brown one with black and grey fringe shooting out haphazardly. This particular darkie had supposedly been educated at some prestigious Yankee college. Seth couldn’t remember which, and he didn’t care.
Returning his attention to the window, Seth focused on the black dots where, if the reflection had been clearer, his eyes would be. He had brown eyes, but the color was so dark, he’d been told it was impossible to tell where his irises ended and his pupils began. He didn’t normally think about such things, but he did find it interesting, as he studied himself more closely, how black his eyes appeared in the glass. Bemusedly he regarded his hair, too. In the window, it looked like a cirrus cloud sitting on top of his head. Years ago it had turned white, but it was still thick with no hint of receding. And he kept it neatly trimmed. Seth didn’t consider himself particularly vain, but at least, unlike the idiot speaker, he took some pride in his appearance.
“…due to the prior government intervention and fear of imprisonment, this time around Klan members are keeping their identities hidden. There are several prominent residents from Mount Joy who are…”
Studying himself in the window was eminently more entertaining than paying attention to an overly garrulous darkie. Seth could also make out his pronounced nose, jaw and cheekbones. His pale flesh, stretched tightly across them, was devoid of wrinkles. He’d been told the combination of white hair and smooth skin gave him an ageless appearance. He’d also been told he was too stern, and he should smile more. Elise said that to him.
“…my informant has been in Tennessee for the last two months investigating. He has confirmed the identity of two Klan members…”
Elise was the mother of one of Seth’s most trusted officers. He’d met her for the first time during the war. Even at her advancing age, she was one of the most physically beautiful women he’d ever known, not that he had the time or the inclination to think about such things. He had to remember, too, that she was enduringly loyal to her dead husband.
Thinking of Elise brought memories to mind Seth normally refused to dwell upon. He’d been so stupid when he was young, so besotted and wretchedly naive. He’d married just days before he left for Texas to fight in the Mexican American War. When his wife’s letters stopped coming, it didn’t occur to him that something was wrong. It never had. Two years later he came home, exhausted and wounded, wanting nothing more than to see her again. He’d dreamed of the solace he would find in her arms, of her softness providing the comfort he’d been craving, but deprived of, for so long. Instead he found an empty house.
“…these so-called random acts are not random. They are deliberate. Herlin Jefferson, my informant, has seen…”
Seth wasn’t one to make the same mistake twice. He’d learned his lesson well. That ridiculous emotion—love—was for fairy tales, not real life. Women were faithless, contemptible creatures, even the seemingly benevolent ones like Elise. And so were Yankees. It didn’t matter that his scandalous divorce occurred twenty-four years ago. The rumors still ran rampant among his peers and subordinates. For six years now he’d ignored the hushed whispers: ‘It’s no wonder McLean’s wife left him. How could any woman put up with such a heartless bastard?’
He’d been told he should be grateful. He should count his blessings. After the fall of the Confederacy, the Union government could have hung him for war crimes. Instead, desiring to right wrongs, end hard feelings and reunite the country, they selected the
best
southern officers and appointed them to positions within the Union forces. The Yankees provided him with a nice office and a staff to answer his every beck and call, all in the name of southern military integration. But he knew what they really thought of him. As far as he was concerned, they could shove their holier-than-thou consolation prize positions up their asses!
Perhaps he was what they thought. Perhaps he was an ass and a bigot, but at least he wasn’t a sunshine-headed darkie, or a squirrel. He had no use for women, or darkies or duplicitous Yankees. What he would have had good use for was a decent cup of coffee! Only Yankees would expect men to waste their afternoon listening to a colored man’s senseless babble without providing proper libations.
“… and I thank you, gentlemen, for your attention,” Washington concluded.
Thank God!
Seth shuddered inwardly and watched the darkie return to his chair. His reprieve, however, was short-lived. As soon as Washington shut his thick-lipped mouth, Reading opened his.
“Thank you, Frederick. Well done.” Reading’s use of the colored man’s given name wasn’t lost on Seth, and it was no surprise. Of course the squirrel and the darkie would be more than mere acquaintances.
Reading’s preening continued, “As you see, gentlemen, there is a need for further federal assistance. We need to bolster state and local law enforcement with additional troops. We need to stop this organization and bring its leaders to justice. These men are strong. The following is rapidly growing. Unless we do something now the problem will worsen until the South is at the Klan’s mercy again. If the Klan becomes as powerful as they once were, we could be faced with another war. Senator Bowman, do you not agree?”
Walter Reading was well liked by most of those in power. He had only one disadvantage—he didn’t have the President’s ear. Fat, licentious Senator Henry Bowman did. Seth knew exactly what Reading was trying to do. With Bowman’s collaboration, the rest of the committee, even if they personally disagreed with Reading’s plan, would defer to Bowman and vote in favor of it.
“General, I have to say,” the senator hemmed, “we have as much military presence in the South at this time as we can afford to send. We simply do not have the troops to spare. While I appreciate your conviction, I disagree that the Klan, or what did you call them—the Sovereign Sons of the South?—will ever have enough money or power to start another war. That simply will not happen. I am sorry, but I cannot support the proposal. My vote is no.”
Well, I’ll be damned!
If Seth had been prone to letting his emotions show, which he unconditionally did not do, his jaw would have dropped. Instead he focused on Reading. Even under those enormous sideburns, he saw the general’s jaw tick. The squirrel was pissed.
Pointedly Reading addressed the senator. “I am surprised. When we last spoke of this, you said you were a proponent of it.”
“I have given it considerable thought since we discussed it, and I’ve changed my mind. I’m sorry, but I just can’t support this project,” the senator said.
“Sir, I beseech you to reconsider,” the darkie interjected. “To date we know of more than fifty cases, all attributed to the reorganized Klan by reliable sources. We’re talking about the murders of not only black men, but women and children, too. And these incidents are only the ones of which we are aware. There are undoubtedly numerous others that have not been reported.”
“I just can’t agree with sending all the troops in the proposal,” the senator said. “And based upon what happened to the spies sent in to stop the Klan before, I can’t agree with that part of the plan either. I am sorry, but you will not be able to change my mind.”
Obviously still piqued, Reading turned next to Tennessee Governor, William Brownlow, who was present in the same capacity as the darkie, not to cast a vote, but to encourage support for the plan. “Governor, would you care to comment?”
“I lost three good men to the Klan when I sent them in undercover,” the governor meekly admitted.
So much for encouraging support!
Seth had to bite the inside of his lip to cover his rising mirth, which only increased when he noticed how red the squirrel’s balding head was becoming.
“Shall we take a preliminary vote?” Reading spoke through clenched teeth.
“I believe discussion is in order,” one of the congressmen suggested.
Within minutes it became clear who from the committee backed the plan and who opposed it. The views were tied, six in favor, six opposed. There was no question in Seth’s mind the careless plan would have passed without the senator’s dissention. His amusement rose, as he realized, being the thirteenth member of the committee, and the only one of them who had yet to comment, his vote would be the deciding factor.