Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (5 page)

Two days after the Winston’s ball, an invitation arrived at the Emerson farmhouse from Captain Jonathan Kinsley asking them to dine with him at Bent Oak Manor. In the days that followed, until the designated evening, Jessica couldn’t stop daydreaming of the man. She forgot to put salt in the bread. She forgot to put the sugar out with the coffee, and she found herself lazing in the tub much longer than normal.

All too soon the evening was upon them. Jessica chose the yellow evening gown her father bought for her a few years before. It wasn’t quite the latest in fashion, but it was well made and complemented her figure. She didn’t have many formal gowns. Most of her daily wear consisted of drab cotton dresses she’d made herself. For Sunday church services she wore her better dresses. Although they were made of finer material, they were all remakes of her mother’s old gowns, and didn’t seem quite sophisticated enough for a place like Bent Oak Manor.

While climbing out of their buggy in front of the grand homestead, Jessica was thrilled to see how much had been done to restore it. As a little girl, she had greatly admired the stately house from afar, daydreaming that someday she might live in one just like it. The last time she rode by, after the war, the place had been almost in ruins, but now it looked wonderful, so clean and bright white. The doors, shutters and moldings were painted shiny black. New railings replaced the broken ones on the full-length front porch, and pretty, yellow daffodils were in bloom in the wide flower beds on either side of the steps.

A sturdy, light-skinned colored man, who Jessica guessed to be about Trent’s age, came from around the side of the house. He wore a dark green, cotton shirt, brown work trousers, and suspenders of a lighter hue. The clothes were well worn, but looked clean. His leather work boots were scuffed, but solid. Politely he removed his red cap and inclined his head in greeting. Without looking any of them in the eye, he said humbly, “I’ll take care o’ yer horse an’ buggy.”

Another colored man in neat butler attire greeted them at the door. He was slender and older, with a lined face and hair fringed with white. Like the younger colored man, he didn’t look directly at any of them. He simply gestured for them to enter.

Inside the house repairs were still in progress. There were several replaced planks on the staircase in need of stain. Wainscoting had been applied to the walls in the foyer, but it too needed finishing. The walls above had been patched and looked ready for painting.

“Captain Kinsley is awaiting you in the parlor,” the butler said. His refined speech, so unusual for someone of color, surprised Jessica so much she smiled at him, but it was difficult to tell whether he noticed. His eyes were still downcast. He led them to the set of double doors on the left. After opening them both, he announced, “Sir, your guests have arrived.”

The parlor was large with tall ceilings and windows facing the front of the house. Directly opposite the double door entrance was a huge, stone fireplace. Unlike the foyer, the painting in the parlor had been completed. The walls were a dark burgundy. The walnut stained floor was covered with an intricately designed carpet. The only thing missing was furniture. There were four, high backed, wooden chairs, the kind one would expect to see surrounding a dining table—clearly a temporary arrangement—near the fireplace.

Jonathan Kinsley was seated in one of them, but he rose as they entered and greeted them with firm handshakes for her father and brother. When he turned to Jessica, he lightly brushed the back of her hand with his lips. Softly, for her ears alone, he said, “You are lovely.”

Straightening, he turned to her father and brother and said, “I apologize for the lack of furniture. I have some ordered, but as you see it has not yet arrived. Please make yourselves as comfortable as you can.” To the butler, who stood in the doorway, he said curtly, “Ditter, bring wine.”

The colored man bowed and disappeared.

The conversation that followed consisted of everything from the weather, to politics to the neighborhood. Every so often, Trent interjected his opinion, and a handful of questions were directed to Jessica, but most of the dialogue was between the captain and her father. After the butler—Ditter was his name, Jessica remembered—brought and served the wine, they spoke primarily about the manor and its many needs. Jessica’s father seemed quite taken in. This Jessica guessed had much to do with the captain’s obvious wealth. Luther was recommending the better stores and shopkeepers in town, but only the ones he felt were trustworthy.

The meal was served in the dining room, which was the room directly across the foyer from the parlor. It too had a double door entrance, and it was fully decorated and furnished. The walls were painted a deep green. A huge, walnut table, able to seat as many as twenty, dominated the room. The chairs around it, which were identical to the chairs in the parlor, were padded in green velvet to match the walls. Jessica thought whoever was decorating this home had exquisite taste. She was intrigued by the bold coloring. It made her think how dull their farmhouse was with all its walls painted white. Not just dull. Their farmhouse was of decent size, but compared to Jonathan Kinsley’s home, it was tiny.

They sat together at one end of the table. The captain took the head chair, with her father to his right and Jessica to his left. Trent sat next to Jessica. The table had already been set with beautiful, hand-painted, fine china, and exquisite silver. A middle aged, moderately plump, colored woman in a black, cotton dress with a crisp white apron, brought the meal. She didn’t say a word and, like the butler and the groom, she didn’t make eye contact. The captain said nothing to her. Once all the serving dishes were placed on the table, she quietly disappeared through a small door at the opposite end of the room.

The food was incredible. The first serving was minestrone soup. The main course consisted of pecan crusted chicken breasts with a variety of fresh vegetables, and mashed potatoes smothered with gravy. It couldn’t have been more delicious.

During the meal, prompted by Luther’s questions, they learned the captain was originally from North Carolina, but his family had moved to Virginia when he was very young. He told them he served under Jeb Stuart during the war, and fought at Manassas twice, at Antietam, Chancellorsville, Richmond, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg. On and on he went, naming battle after battle. He seemed to enjoy speaking of his exploits during the war, and he was entertaining in the telling of them. His most amusing stories, however, came when he spoke of the difficulties of buying an abandoned property from the government.

In discussing the manor, he told them the crops would be hay, wheat and tobacco. The thousand-acre property also contained a peach orchard. Although it was overgrown and the trees were badly in need of pruning, they still produced. Jessica was tickled at hearing this. Peaches were her favorite fruit.

For dessert the same colored woman brought freshly sliced peaches, smothered with cream and served over biscuits. The fruit, the captain told them, came from his orchard. He went on after that, telling them that farming wasn’t to be the main source of revenue for the manor. Rather, it would be his one true passion—his horses.

After they ate, they returned to the parlor for coffee. All too soon, it was time for them to depart, but Jessica didn’t want to go. She liked listening to the captain talk. She liked his accent and the deep, resonant tone of his voice. When they exchanged farewells, he held her hand longer than necessary and quietly told her he hoped to see her again soon.

They were in their buggy, barely out of earshot of the house, when Jessica’s father remarked, “Captain Kinsley seems quite taken with our Jessie. He had his eye on you all evening, my girl.”

“Stop it, Papa.” Jessica could feel the blush creep into her cheeks.

“That man is something!” Luther’s eyes flashed. “Look at what he’s done with that place. He’s got money and lots of it! How many servants do you think he has? And just for himself! My oh my! Jessie, of all the men in this county… no, of all the men in this state, that one is a catch!”

“Well, I don’t like him,” Trent piped in. “There’s something about him that’s not right. You mark my word, Pop. He’s not all he’s making himself out to be.”

“What?” Luther scoffed. “What makes you say that? He has the finest manners and was a most gracious host tonight. And, to open his home to his poor neighbors…” He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “…I, for one, think he’s a great addition to our neighborhood!”

Trent sneered, “I’m telling you, that man is a phony.”

“Ah, I get it,” Luther mocked. “You see he’s got his eye on our Jessie and you’re being a protective brother. Very admirable of you, Trent. Very admirable, indeed.”

Trent shook his head. “That’s not what’s bothering me. The man brags entirely too much. A little humility would serve him well. And Jessie, if he does pursue you, I would be careful. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him.” For added effect Trent shrugged his armless shoulder.

Her father and brother’s debate about the captain continued for the remainder of the drive home, but Jessica chose to tune them out. Trent’s negativity was no surprise. Since the war, he’d become quite cynical. What she was debating on her own was whether there was any truth to her father’s claim that the captain was interested in her. She couldn’t remember a time where she hoped more fervently her father was correct.

* * *

After Sunday services, Sebastian Nash methodically loaded all the charitable donations he’d collected into his wagon. He’d started the charity drive several weeks before by announcing to the congregation he would collect any old clothing, shoes, linens, books, or other valuables they no longer wanted. He’d made an extensive list of recommended items, including salve, bandages and medicine for the infirm, building and cleaning supplies, and toys for children. He told the parishioners God would look upon them favorably if they contributed, and he would distribute their donations to the poor.

Not long after moving to Mount Joy, to familiarize himself better with the countryside, Sebastian had gone exploring on his black stallion. As he sauntered along, he’d thought to himself the valley was touched by the hand of God. It was the most beautiful land he’d ever laid eyes upon, so green and plentiful, so different than the endless rows of buildings in the city he was used to. Despite the somewhat unpleasant odors, he enjoyed seeing livestock grazing in the pastures. There were cows, sheep, chickens, goats, even ducks splashing contentedly on a pond. That day he’d wished his wife, Margaret could have been with him. She would have been as in awe as he was. To dispel the lingering despair, he had to remind himself yet again that her death was God’s will. She was better off, no longer in pain, no longer suffering. But, dear God, how he missed her!

He was better now than he had been. Developing a daily routine in this new place he called home helped. Every morning before breakfast he went riding. During the day, because it was what ministers were supposed to do, he visited the homes of church members. At dusk, to expel his restless energy, he took a long walk to town and back. Still, a day didn’t go by that he didn’t think of Meggie every minute. Although he hadn’t done it for more than a year, he wondered how many mornings would pass before he would stop wanting to remain in bed, curl himself into a tight ball and weep.

One member of the congregation reminded him of his wife, not so much in looks, but because of a shared personality trait. Several people told him Jessica Emerson was pompous. She wasn’t well liked around town. It took but one meeting for Sebastian to realize the community was wrong about her. He knew because Meggie dealt with the same issue. There was nothing cold or egotistical about Jessica Emerson. Simply put, she was just painfully shy.

Sebastian was further convinced of Jessica’s commendable nature when her family brought their contribution to the charity drive. They brought jars of fruit. Not just fruit but canned tomatoes and green beans, too. Sebastian hadn’t asked the congregation for edible items, but the minute Luther Emerson carried the crate into the church, he realized what a dolt he’d been. Food was essential.

Trent told him their donation was Jessica’s idea, and she’d done all the canning. Each of the jars in the crate had a bright ribbon tied around the lid. Trent then pulled one specific jar out to show it to him. It was the same size and shape as the rest, but it didn’t contain a fruit or a vegetable. “Jessie put this in here for you to give out to the children,” Trent said. That jar was filled to the brim with peppermint candies.

Jessica Emerson and his wife would have been kindred spirits, Sebastian decided. He was saddened by the thought that they would never meet. Had Meggie been alive, she wouldn’t have let him forget to include food on the list of recommended donations. Meggie would have fixed pretty ribbons around the jar lids, and she would have insisted upon giving something special for the little ones, too.

The day he went exploring, he eventually came to the area near the railroad tracks known as Shanty Town. Several members of his congregation—Luther Emerson was one of them—had cautioned him to avoid the place, because, they told him, the people who lived there would steal from him, molest him, even kill him. Of course, Sebastian dismissed those warnings as soon as they were spoken. What he saw that day was terribly disturbing. Running through alleys between rows of makeshift huts were barefooted children dressed in filthy rags. There were men and women so thin from starvation and disease they could barely stand. The conditions overall were horrendous and unsanitary. Sebastian rode right into the thick of the place and dismounted, hoping to speak with them. The children ran from him. The women hid. He saw them peeking through the cracks of their poorly constructed shacks. A very thin, stooped man using a whittled tree branch as a walking stick confronted him, demanding to know what he wanted. Sebastian said he just wanted to help. The man barked at him, “We don’t want your kind of help!”