Read Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Elizabeth Courtright
Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2)
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.
Year of the Book
135 Glen Avenue
Glen Rock, Pennsylvania
ISBN 13: 978-1-942430-44-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015949148
The sound was a low, consistent rumble of thunder, tumbling over the landscape. The sight was a shadow, a waft of black smoke, hurtling onward in a backdrop of darkness. Not even the moonlight could glint upon the powerful stallion, for every piece of its equipment—the bridle, the bit, the saddle, the stirrups—were forged in black.
Its rider, hunkered low, was equally adorned. From his knee-high boots to his leather gloves, to the cloak billowing out behind him and the knitted scarf around his neck, he was shrouded in obscurity. More of that indistinguishable color, in the form of a kerchief, covered his head from his forehead to where the ends were tied off at the back of his neck. A second one, stretched taught against the bridge of his nose, hid the bottom half of his face. For months the black had concealed him. The nights were his haunt. The ghost-like figures adorned in white costumes were his nemesis.
This night the Klan’s terror was extreme. The illuminating flames from their burning cross revealed the bodies of two of their victims. They’d been shot in the head, execution style. Two others had been lynched. As the mighty stallion abruptly halted beside one of the hanged men, its rider, brandishing a knife, rose up to reach the rope extended to the tree limb above. In seconds the lynched man’s body thumped to the root-covered ground below. The second body followed.
Dismounting quickly, the rider knelt by the first man to unbind the rope from his throat. With the same urgency, he untangled the second man. Then, after forcing that victim’s head back and opening his mouth, the rider dropped over him. He took a deep breath, covered the victim’s mouth with his own and blew.
Again and again he bowed over the victim to force air into his deprived lungs. He kept at it until the victim began to sputter. But then, he didn’t wait for him to fully recover. He was already beside the other victim, doing the same to him.
Tirelessly he worked. He worked until his chest heaved, until his own lungs demanded he stop. But he didn’t stop. As the minutes ticked by, he was aware of the victim he roused first sitting up. He was aware of the gasps and choked hisses coming from him as he struggled to breathe normally again.
“Ma sista,” the victim choked out gravelly. “Dey took ma sista.”
Only then did the rider look up. “Where? Which way did they go?”
In the firelight, the victim raised a battered hand and pointed toward the woods. “Dat way. Ova dere.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the rider rasped. “I’ll get her.”
He whistled for the stallion, but it wasn’t necessary. The horse was in tune enough with his movements to know he was needed. In seconds man and beast were galloping toward the trees. He could only guess how far the Klan had taken the victim’s sister. He could only guess what they had done to her. He didn’t know how old she was, or whether he would find her alive or dead. He didn’t know, inside the denser shade of the forest, if he would find her at all.
And then he heard the distant cries. They were little more than whimpers, barely discernable under the crackling rustle of winter branches, but they were enough.
Several yards away, he dismounted. As he approached, treading carefully over fallen limbs and brittle foliage, he wrenched the cloak from his shoulders. She was next to a thick tree trunk, curled in a fetal position. Her wrists had been tied together and stretched upward by a rope secured to a high branch. What remained of her tattered clothing wasn’t adequate protection against the frigid elements. Her shivers were evident in the shudders of her hiccoughing sobs. She was young, no more than thirteen, and they’d bloodied her.
The rider didn’t want to scare her, but the moment she caught sight of his dark shape, she began to scream. She scrambled to move away. Bound as she was, she could go nowhere.
“It’s okay. I’m a friend. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve come to take you home.” Hoping to lessen her fear, he staggered his approach, repeating his intentions, until her screams diminished, until he was hunkered to his haunches beside her, and she stilled.
“Let me put this around you,” he said of his cloak. “I’m going to cut the ropes,” he said of his knife. He held it up so she could see it, so she wouldn’t feel threatened.
Carefully he slid the blade between her skin and the twine. The first binding was the most difficult. The second had more give and separated easily. Even so, the flesh around both of her wrists was raw and blistered. Her face was so swollen, her eyes were barely visible. With the drape of his cloak surrounding her, he could no longer see the rest of her, but he’d seen enough of the rips in her skirt and the stripes on her thighs to know what had been done to her.
How many of them had been there? How much of their terror had she endured? God be with her! God help her! She’s just a girl… a little girl…
“Do you think you can stand? Take my hands. Let me help you,” he coaxed gently.
“Did dey kill ma bruddas?” she asked.
“Three men died tonight. I don’t know if any of them were your brothers. I can only tell you one of your brothers will be okay. He told me where to find you.”
Tears trickled from her swollen eyes. “You is da spook?”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “I am the spook.”
“Why din’t ya come sooner?” she cried. “Ya hep’d udder people ’afore da Klan come afta dem! Why din’t ya hep us? Why din’t ya make dem stop…”
January 1872
“That’s right, Jacob. Well done!” Jessica Kinsley exclaimed. “How many of the rest of you had the correct answer?”
Every one of the eleven students seated at the big kitchen table raised their hands. They were the children of Jessica’s husband’s many servants, ranging in age from six to sixteen. For months now she’d been teaching them. Because they had no education beforehand, she’d started from scratch. Already they were reading words with as many as six letters. They could write. They understood numbers up to one hundred. They’d come far in such a short time, and Jessica was extremely proud of each and every one of them.
Grinning, she said, “Well, my goodness, since you’re all so smart, I will have to make the next equation more difficult.”
The younger ones giggled. The older ones groaned, and Jessica had to smother her own chuckle.
“Miss Jessica?” Ditter interrupted. The kindly, lined-faced butler poked his head around the kitchen door.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“You have a visitor,” he said. “I told her you were indisposed, but she insisted I inform you she is here. It’s your friend, Emily Brooks.”
“Oh!” Jessica glanced at the clock on the wall. There was still an hour to go before lunch break. While she was pleased her friend had come to see her, she didn’t want to let the children end their studies quite yet. As it was, for the last couple weeks she’d been dismissing them early. She couldn’t afford to give up more of their instruction time.
Jessica had not told her girlfriend about her school for good reason. This didn’t mean Emily hadn’t caught wind of it. Jessica’s brother, Trent was courting Emily, and Trent knew what Jessica was doing. If there was anyone in the world Jessica could trust with this closely held secret, it was her dearest friend. She could trust her friend almost more than she could her own brother.
“Ditter,” she said, “would you mind showing Miss Brooks here to the kitchen?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rather than doling out one arithmetic challenge, Jessica gave her students five. By the time Emily walked in, their heads were diligently bowed over their slates. Jessica put her finger to her lips to indicate Emily should keep quiet, but she did take the time to briefly hug her friend and murmur, “I’m so glad you came. But I won’t be free for another hour or so. Would you mind waiting for me?”
“Of course not.” Emily copied Jessica’s hushed tone. Her round, blue eyes sparkled. “Trent told me about your school, but he didn’t say when you held classes. I didn’t realize I would be interrupting. May I stay and watch?”
Jessica assumed Emily would want to wait in the parlor. This unexpected request tickled her. “Please do,” she said.
Emily surprised her yet again. Instead of sitting in the chair Jessica indicated, she sauntered over to the kitchen table and in a whisper, so as not to disturb the others, asked one of the students if she could sit next to her. Emily, it seemed, intended to enjoy herself. As soon as the children finished solving their problems and they’d gone over the answers together, Emily raised her hand.
“Do you have a question, Miss Brooks?” Jessica said.
“Miss Jesska,” Emily chirped, using the abbreviated moniker given to Jessica by the children. “Do you, by chance, have an extra slate and chalk? I’d like try to solve the next set of arithmetic problems, too.”
The children giggled, and Emily grinned impishly. Jessica handed her girlfriend an extra slate, a stick of chalk and an eraser. She should have known garrulous Emily would end up being the center of attention. Soon enough all the students were snickering over Emily’s feigned failures at solving her simple problems. One of them chided, “All you hafta do is count on yer fingers, Miss Brooks. It ain’t… I mean, isn’t… dat hard.”
Emily’s reply was, “Oh, is that all? Will you sit beside me and tutor me? What is your name, youngster…”
In turn, each of them had a chance to tutor her, and none were given an easy time of it. Emily was insistent upon learning their names and ages, which prompted all sorts of other silly questions. The whole bunch of them were in stitches and having such a grand time, the lunch hour struck and no one noticed. Not even Jessica.
Before they ate, Jessica introduced Emily to Ditter’s wife, Ruth, who was the most excellent cook Jessica had ever known. Ditter and Ruth, Jessica explained, had two grandchildren living with them at Bent Oak Manor, seven-year-old Jacob, and Chelsea, who would soon be three. Chelsea, of course was too young to attend Jessica’s school, but Jacob was one her students.
Martha, the housekeeper, was present to help Ruth serve, so Jessica introduced Emily to her as well. Martha was married to Herlin, Jessica’s husband’s driver. He’d been the one to take care of Emily’s horse and buggy when she arrived. Herlin and Martha’s eight-year-old son, Willy, was also one of Jessica’s pupils, although not just within her school. She was teaching him to play the piano, too.
The whole lot of them, Emily included, sat around the table to feast upon the scrumptious bread and soup Ruth prepared. Emily’s chatter provided plenty of entertainment.
Afterwards, Jessica dismissed the children for the day, and she and Emily made their way through the hallways of the beautiful manor house to the parlor, where they would be able to speak privately.
“I’m sorry for disrupting your lessons,” Emily said as she plopped down on the sofa in a very unladylike manner. Emily wasn’t one to stand on ceremony when she didn’t have to.
“No, you’re not.” Jessica laughed as she settled beside her friend. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me, too. You’re quite an exceptional teacher, but I knew you would be, and those black children adore you. They’re smart, too. Funny, isn’t it? You wouldn’t think colored children would be. I’ll tell you, that little Chelsea is about the cutest thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon. Then again, black babies are all darling, aren’t they? Speaking of babies, how are you feeling?”
Jessica chose to disregard Emily’s uninformed remarks about the intelligence of colored people. It was a common misconception among the white community. Jessica knew, once Emily had a chance to reflect upon what she’d witnessed today, her opinion would eventually rectify itself. At least, Jessica hoped so.
Emily’s last question, referencing the child she carried, was one Jessica couldn’t ignore. She longed to talk about her baby-to-come and she especially wanted to share her experiences as a mother-to-be with her friend. Smiling, she said, “My clothes are getting tighter, but I feel good.”
“I still can’t believe it! You’re going to have a baby! This summer you will be a mother! I know I’ve said this a dozen times already, but I’m so happy for you. How is the captain these days? Are you and he any less at odds with each other? Trent worries about you. We both do.”
Jessica didn’t want to speak of her husband, former Confederate Captain Jonathan Kinsley. Ever since Christmas, after she’d refused to open the gifts he’d given her, he’d become increasingly distant. Except for the couple times a week he entertained his friends, he was rarely home. She couldn’t remember the last meal they’d shared. Not that she minded. “He keeps busy with his horses,” she said noncommittally. Hoping to change the subject, she went on quickly, “How are things with Trent?”
“Well,” Emily tittered, “I do have a good reason for stopping by today. I have some news to share about the one-armed bandit.”
“Please tell me you didn’t just refer to my brother as a one-armed bandit?” Jessica burst out. Trent lost his left arm in the war and was self-conscious about it. Jessica didn’t think calling him a one-armed bandit would go over well at all.
“Let me tell you what happened,” Emily said. “Yesterday while we were out riding, the pin came out of his sleeve. We ended up stopping by the Crescent River Bridge to give the horses a break. All I was trying to do was help him fix the sleeve and he got mad and started yelling at me. You know how he doesn’t like to be touched there. God forbid I actually might glimpse the scar on his shoulder.” Emily rolled her eyes. “So I told him to stop being so pigheaded, and he told me to stop being so harebrained. That made me mad, so I said if that’s what he thought of me, I would tell my daddy I wasn’t going to let him court me anymore. And then he said, ‘Won’t that make your daddy’s day!’ You know my daddy has reservations about Trent. I don’t know why, but that’s beside the point. Trent made me so furious, I slapped him.”
“You didn’t!” Jessica exclaimed.
“Well, no. I tried to, but he’s fast as lightning. He caught my wrist in midair.”
“Then what happened?”
“I wanted to get back on my horse. I told him if he didn’t apologize I was going to go home without him. But, of course, I can’t mount without a step up, and Trent refused to help me. I tried to climb up all by myself and he just stood there laughing. Then my necklace caught on the saddle buckle and broke. It was the necklace he gave me—the really pretty, heart-shaped locket. It fell right down the front of my riding coat.” She gestured to the point in the V neckline of her gown, and as she did, her pretty, doll-like face began to brightly glow. “I tried to get it out, but the chain got caught on the buttons of my blouse underneath. I was so mad and frustrated, I told Trent I was glad it was broken. Trent said if I didn’t want it anymore, he would take it back. He reached right down into my riding coat and yanked it out!”
“No!”
“Yes!” She lowered her voice to a conspiring whisper. “And I swear he did it on purpose. He did it so he could touch my breast!”
“Oh dear.” Jessica didn’t know whether to be appalled by her brother’s behavior or to laugh over Emily’s tirade.
She went on, “Then he held the locket up in the air. I had to jump to try to get it. But you know how tall Trent is. There was no way I could reach it, so I hollered at him, ‘You can’t take it back! Give it to me!’ and he said, ‘I gave it to you, so I can take it back whenever I want,’ and I yelled, ‘I love that locket! It’s mine! Give it back! You’re a thief!’ and he said, ‘If I’m a thief, then you’re a liar. You don’t love it! You’re glad it’s broken!’ So I said, ‘I do too love it! Give it back, you lecherous, one-armed bandit!’”
“Oh no! Was Trent angry? What did he do?”
“He said, ‘What did you call me?’ and I said, ‘I called you a lecherous, one-armed bandit!’ And then…” Emily’s big blue eyes peered out from under her lashes. She cleared her throat. “He… um… he… um… he kissed me!” The rest of her diatribe came out in a rush, “I couldn’t believe it! He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me close so fast I didn’t know what was happening. Oh my, your brother… I don’t even know where to begin. All I know is when he stopped kissing me my legs were so wobbly, if he hadn’t been holding me, I would have toppled over. And do you know what he said?”
“What did he say?” Jessica was on the edge of her seat.
Emily giggled. “He said, ‘I swear you’re going to drive me crazy, Emily Brooks, but I love you anyway.’ So I said, ‘You’re already crazy. You don’t need my help with that, and I love you, too.’ And then he kissed me again. I have to tell you, Jessie, your brother is very, very good at kissing. He made my whole body tingle.”
Jessica didn’t necessarily want to think about her brother’s prowess in the arts of lovemaking. To prevent Emily from going into further detail, which Emily would undoubtedly do, she prompted, “What happened after that?”
“Well, Jessie, you’re never going to believe what Trent asked me to do.”
“Tell me.”
“He said, ‘Emily, darling—yes, he called me darling!—will you consider taking on this one-armed bandit for life? Will you marry me?’”
“Oh, Emily!” Jessica was so ecstatic, tears gathered in her eyes. For months now, she’d been praying this day would come. Because of his arm, Trent didn’t think he could be a good husband to Emily. Years ago, right after he returned from the war, his fiancée, Christine broke off their engagement. Jessica had been staggered. They’d been so in love before Trent marched off to join the infantry. For three years Christine had waited for him. But that horrible day she came to see him, she was strangely standoffish and cold. She stayed only long enough to tell Trent she couldn’t marry a
cripple
. How Jessica hated that word!
She thought her handsome, albeit cynical brother would never admit his feelings for Emily, let alone get around to proposing. Apparently being called a one-armed bandit had done the trick. Bemusedly, she thought, Emily and Trent’s life together would never be dull, not with the way they constantly goaded one another.
Thinking of Trent and Emily’s romance, reminded Jessica of her own. Of course, she and Jon had never called each other names, not like Emily and Trent did. There was a time though—it seemed so long ago—that Jon’s kisses had made Jessica weak in the knees, too.
In the beginning she’d been terribly shy and nervous around him. She worried she was too boring, and not nearly good enough for a man so worldly and ambitious. He’d bought Bent Oak Manor, an estate of more than a thousand acres, abandoned during the war. He renovated the house, built an enormous stable and turned the place into a prosperous horse farm. At least Jessica believed it was prosperous. They never discussed financial matters, but Jon never seemed to lack for funds either. While he courted her, he’d bought her many beautiful and expensive gifts. Adorning her hand, along with her wedding band, was an exquisite diamond and sapphire ring. He’d designed it himself and had it made for her. For as long as she could remember, she’d admired the grand piano in the window of the music store in town. He’d given it to her as an engagement present, claiming his favorite pastime was listening to her play.