Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (21 page)

The three of them ended up sitting in the foyer. There was nothing left to do except wait. For a while Ruth and Martha spoke in soft whispers, reassuring each other and Jessica that the doctor would help Jon and he would be fine. As time passed, they fell silent.

It never occurred to Jessica that Jon might be in danger. All the time she and Ruth waited for him to return with Chelsea, she doubted he would. Despite his promise, she believed he would join the Klan in assaulting the innocent child. But, he did come back, and he did return Chelsea unharmed.

There was no question Jon’s wounds had been inflicted by the Klan, and Jessica could only wonder what had transpired. He hadn’t been gone long—less than an hour. She’d heard no gunfire, so she knew they had to have been quite a distance from the manor. Jon rode all that way, so badly injured to bring Chelsea safely home, and all she’d done was curse at him. She said she wished he was dead, and she hoped he would rot in Hell. Those awful words were repeating over and over in her mind and they wouldn’t stop. All she could do was whisper, “Dear God, forgive me.”

The second she heard footsteps in the back hallway, Jessica jolted to her feet. They carried Jon out, Herlin and Ditter on one side, and the doctor and his assistant on the other. On their way to the kitchen they carried him face down. This time he was face up, and they had him cocooned in a white sheet. The only part of him not covered was his face. The streaks of blood had been cleaned away, and his nose didn’t appear to be bleeding any longer, but his eyes were still closed. The doctor said they were taking him up to his room to make him comfortable, and he would be down to speak with her shortly.

Again they were left to wait, but this time Jessica couldn’t sit. She was by the window staring out at nothing when she heard them at the top of the stairs. Instantly she spun. As they descended, one by one she regarded their grave expressions. Again her pulse began to hammer. She could feel it in her temples, in her chest, in her stomach.

The doctor came straight to her. “Mrs. Kinsley,” he said, “the news I have for you is not good, not good at all. Your husband was shot twice in the back. We were only able to remove one of the bullets. Unfortunately it is not possible to remove the other.”

“What does that mean?” Jessica asked. Her voice was shaking as badly as the rest of her.

“It means removing the second bullet would kill him instantly. It means, ma’am, your husband is bleeding internally and there is nothing we can do to stop it. I’ve stitched the wounds to stop the external bleeding, but you will want to keep an eye on the dressings and change them if need be. If he wakes, although I highly doubt he will, keep him as quiet as possible. You can give him water or broth if he wants it, and I left laudanum on the table upstairs for pain.” He paused and sighed. “I am sorry, ma’am. Most likely he won’t last the night.”

Jessica’s voice stuck in her throat.

“I’ll stop back tomorrow morning. There’s no need to send a message.” He nodded to her and said, “Good night, ma’am.” And then he strode toward the door with his black bag in tow.

Vaguely, Jessica was aware of the doctor’s assistant murmuring condolences as he passed. She just stood there paralyzed. She couldn’t think.

“How much laudanum can we give him?” Ruth asked.

The doctor looked over his shoulder. “It really doesn’t matter. Give him as much as he needs to be comfortable. The only thing we can do is make the last minutes of his life as peaceful as possible.”

Jessica took a step toward the doctor. “This can’t be. There has to be some hope, some chance. There must be more we can do—”

“Mrs. Kinsley,” the doctor said curtly, “I don’t know how much more blunt I can be. Your husband is bleeding to death on the inside. He will not survive. As I said before, you needn’t send word of his demise. I’ll stop by tomorrow. I am truly sorry.”

Jessica watched until the door closed behind the doctor and his assistant. Only then did she turn to Ditter, Ruth and Martha. They all appeared as disbelieving and dazed as she felt. Without a word, she ran up the stairs. She could hear Ditter, Martha and Ruth following her, but she didn’t look back.

Jon’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, but not enough for Jessica to see beyond it. With a trembling hand, she pushed it open. Herlin was standing beside the bed, staring down at Jon, blocking her view of him. As Jessica came into the room, Herlin turned, and then he stepped aside so she could approach the bed.

Jon was lying on his back with a pillow under his shoulders causing his head to be tilted. A sheet and a light cotton blanket covered him to his ribs. A stark, white bandage was wrapped tightly around his torso.

Jessica leaned over to better see his face. Normally Jon’s skin appeared tanned, but now he was terribly pale. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing through it. In the silent, stillness of the room, she could hear each breath, lightly in and out, in and out. His eyes were closed with his long, thick lashes casting faint shadows under them. The only evidence of blood remaining on him was the dried flakes of it on the inner rim of his nose.

Jessica’s eyes roved downward, to the shallow rise and fall of his chest, to his bared arms and hands. His long fingers and short, manicured nails, that at one time she had admired so, were lying lifelessly on top of the blanket by his thighs. The lamplight glistened on the wedding band on his left hand, making it sparkle. She lightly touched the top of his hand with her fingertips. Even if it didn’t awaken him, her touch should have tickled him. His hand should have twitched in reaction, but he didn’t stir, not even the slightest tremor.

Swallowing hard, Jessica’s eyes moved on, over the thin spread that covered him. Under it she could see his legs lying perfectly straight, and the bumps of his feet near the footboard. “A pillow. He needs a pillow for his bad knee,” she said, turning to Ruth. “Where is his little red pillow, the one he always puts under his knee? He’s not comfortable sleeping like this without it.”

Jessica didn’t see where Ruth found the pillow, but she did notice the tears in Ruth’s eyes as she handed it over. Carefully, Jessica uncovered Jon’s legs from his feet upward, realizing as she did, he was entirely unclothed under the blanket. With his long limbs exposed to his knees, she lifted his scarred leg and slid the pillow under it. And then she just stood there, willing him to move, to open his eyes, to say something, anything. But nothing happened.

Ditter moved the rocking chair beside the bed so Jessica would have somewhere to sit. Herlin perched himself on the window sill and looked out toward the front lawn, although what he could possibly see in the darkness, Jessica didn’t know. Ditter went around dousing all the lamps, except for one, leaving the room in heavy shadows. After that, he, Ruth and Martha left, but they didn’t go far. Occasionally Jessica heard them moving around and talking softly in the hallway.

As time ticked by Jon’s steady, barely audible breaths began to rattle. The horrid gurgling became so loud, Ditter came in from the hallway and Herlin got up from the window sill. They both stood beside the rocking chair. After a few minutes, Herlin shrugged and headed back to his perch. Ditter started for the door.

And that’s when Jon moved. It wasn’t much, nothing more than a shiver, but Jessica reacted instantly. “Herlin!” she screeched.

By the time Herlin and Ditter were at the bed, Jon’s chest was convulsing. His neck arched farther backwards as he choked raggedly, and then like a bursting fountain, blood spewed from his mouth. Some of it spattered on the bandage on his chest, on the blanket, on the pillow, on the headboard above him, and more seeped in thin streams, running across his jaw to his throat. Still more trickled from his nose.

Frantically, using the handkerchief from her pocket, Jessica tried to wipe his face. At the same time Herlin leaned over and held his shoulders to keep him restrained. Hearing the commotion, Ruth and Martha came flying into the room. Ruth said something about going for fresh water and towels, but Jessica barely heard her. She was too caught up in what she was doing.

But then, while she sponged and mopped, and sponged and mopped, Jon settled. His breathing became again like it had been, audible, but steady and quiet. Herlin was hovering, still holding onto his shoulders, as if he was afraid to let go.

There were more smears of blood on Jon’s face and on his neck, but Jessica could do no more with her small handkerchief. She took a step away to wait for Ruth to return, and Herlin sat down on the bed. Just as he did, Jon’s eyelids flickered.

“Jonny, it’s Herlin,” he said gently. “Are you waking up?”

Jon’s eyes shot wide open. And then, as if he had pressing things to do, he sat straight up. The movement was so abrupt, he almost knocked Herlin off the bed.

“Good God, Jonny!” Herlin exclaimed, righting himself.

This horrible noise came out of Jon, like an elongated, agonized gasp. His back arched, his head dropped back over his shoulders. Carefully, slowly, supporting him the whole way, Herlin lowered him back to the bed.

Jon’s eyes were still wide open, as if he was transfixed by something on the ceiling. He was breathing loudly again, but it wasn’t a rattle. This was scratchy huffing. His chest heaved and his mouth moved like he couldn’t find air at all. Frightened, horrified and feeling utterly helpless, Jessica took another step away. She couldn’t have been gladder for Herlin’s calm, competent presence.

“Shhh, Jonny, you’re okay,” he soothed gently. “Just lie still. Everything is okay. It’s me, Herlin. Jessica’s here, too. We’re all here with you.”

The next thing she knew Jon was trying to speak, but the clipped whispers between his ragged breaths made no sense to her. He kept panting and rasping the same thing, “Ch… ch… see… ch…”

“What is it?” Herlin asked. “What do you need? Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?”

Jon’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. His arms and hands began to tremble, and yet he kept on, “Ch… see… ch… see… ch…”

How Herlin figured out what he was trying to say, Jessica didn’t know. “Chelsea?” Herlin said. “Is she who you’re talking about? She’s fine, Jonny. Don’t you remember? You brought her home. You saved her life. She’s home and she’s fine.”

This seemed to calm him. Although he was still struggling to breathe, the tremors in his limbs lessened considerably. His eyes moved, too. Rather than staring at the ceiling, he looked directly at Herlin. To Jessica it appeared as if he didn’t recognize Herlin at all.

Even so, Herlin continued on in the same comforting tone, “Don’t worry. Chelsea’s fine. We’re all fine. Right now you need to rest. We’re with you. We won’t leave you.”

Jon drew in a long, hard breath, held it, and slowly closed his eyes. His limbs, his body and the expression on his face relaxed. And then the breath he took in came out of him, expelling slowly. When it ended, there was nothing but silence. Jon’s body remained perfectly still. His chest wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing at all.

“No! No! Wake up! Jonny, wake up! Damn you! Wake up!” Herlin grabbed Jon by the shoulders shook him roughly.

Herlin’s actions were shocking enough. As Jessica looked at the others in the room, she saw Ruth’s eyes brimming. Martha had both hands over her mouth, as if she was trying to keep from sobbing. Ditter’s expression was one of pure anguish.

The old butler put a hand on Herlin’s shoulder and said gently, “That’s enough. Let him be.”

Herlin shrugged Ditter off. “No!”

In an instant Herlin was on his feet. He seized Jon by the jaw and forcibly yanked his mouth open. Then, leaning over him, he took a deep breath, covered Jon’s mouth with his own and blew. Briefly he raised his head, and then he blew into Jon’s mouth again. He did it again and again.

Jessica stood there, stunned, frozen and yet riveted. Time seemed suspended. She lost count of how many times Herlin breathed into Jon’s mouth, but it didn’t seem like he would ever stop. He kept on and on, even after he was winded himself.

“Herlin!” Ditter said sternly. “It’s over! Let him alone. He’s gone.”

Growling, Herlin lunged at Ditter, but only to push him away. While Ditter stumbled backwards, Herlin turned back to the bed. But, before he could resume, Jon’s head jerked against the pillow and he coarsely dragged in air.

Herlin shook him, lightly this time. Jon’s eyes didn’t open, but was breathing, wheezing in and out, each little drop of air.

* * *

Time ticked by. Herlin returned to his window perch and Jessica found herself once again settled in the rocking chair. It was there that her mind went back in time, reliving every word spoken, every outing, every moment spent in her husband’s company. In the beginning she’d been overwhelmed by him. He was so personable, so funny, so kind, so generous. She’d been so taken in by his many thoughtful gifts and compliments. She’d loved his little notes and his tender words of love. He was so passionate, so devoted, so wonderful. But that all changed.

He treated the servants so heartlessly. Not just the servants, but anyone of color. He was a Klansman, a rapist, a murderer, a drunk. All of this left her baffled by the way Ruth, Martha and Ditter were caring for him. And Herlin… Jon mercilessly beat him, made him bleed, and yet… Jessica didn’t understand Herlin at all.

Her own feelings were as perplexing. She’d claimed to hate him. As terrible as it was to admit, since they married, many times she’d wished he would die. If he died she would have the freedom she so desperately desired. But now, the only thing she could come up with to justify her somersaulting emotions was her guilt. She’d allowed her temper to get the best of her too often. She’d said such awful, hurtful things to him. What she wanted to do was apologize, and the only chance she would have to do that, would be if he lived.

But he wasn’t going to live. The doctor had been adamant that he wouldn’t.

As she listened to the steady drone of his breath, she wondered how long it would be before it stopped. By blowing into his mouth, Herlin brought him back once. Would he try a second time? If he did and it worked, it would only prolong the inevitable. Perhaps this was why Ditter tried to stop him. Jessica didn’t know what to think. What she knew was that all too soon, Jon would be gone from her life forever. All too soon, she would be a widow.

* * *

“Miss Jessica?” Herlin said softly.

Jessica hadn’t thought she would doze off, but she did. Her first thought was that it was over. Jon was gone. But then she realized the reason she couldn’t hear the steady wheeze of her husband’s breathing, wasn’t because it stopped. It was because of the thunder of horses outside. There were voices, shouts, and the sounds of clanking wagons, too. And it was daylight.

“What is it?” she asked Herlin. “What’s wrong?”

He smiled faintly. “I have to go. I’ll be downstairs, but I shouldn’t be long. Please excuse me.”

Jessica was alone in the room with her husband. For a moment she stood beside the bed and stared down at him. But she didn’t stay there long. She had to see what was happening outside. Instinctively she knew whatever it was, wasn’t good. As she hastened to the window, listening to Herlin’s boot heels on the stairs, she noticed Ditter, Ruth and Martha were no longer in the hallway.

The ruckus outside was being caused by military cavalry, and not just a couple of them. There had to be at least a hundred horses, each with a fully uniformed rider, slowly coming up the drive. They were in formation, riding four abreast in row after row. In the middle of the entourage was a large, dark carriage with a military crest on the side. Three covered wagons followed it.

At the front of the line were three officers. The one in the center was riding a white horse, the only white horse in the bunch. Jessica wasn’t familiar enough with military insignia to recognize a position based upon the bars and stars one wore, but she guessed by the number on this man’s decorated uniform, he held a high rank.

He and his two officers dismounted right at the base of the porch and the next thing Jessica saw, Herlin was there, shaking his hand. Jessica badly wanted to open the window so she could hear what was being said, but she didn’t have a chance. They strode up the porch steps and came into the house. Jessica couldn’t see them any longer, but now she could hear them. Herlin introduced the man from the white horse to Ruth and Martha. Apparently he already knew Ditter. His name, Herlin told them, was General Seth McLean.

And then they started up the stairs.

Jessica waited by her husband’s bedside for them to enter the room. She didn’t turn around until the hinges on the door creaked. The man who came through it behind Herlin was tall and imposing. His short, neatly trimmed hair was pure white, but his cleanly shaven skin was flawlessly unwrinkled. His eyes, however, were awful. They were dark, almost black and glowering at her so cryptically, she felt her stomach knot. She couldn’t keep the eye contact.

“Miss Jessica,” Herlin said, “I’d like to introduce you to General McLean.”

The general bowed his head, but made no attempt to shake her hand. Instead, he rudely brushed right past her. He moved so purposefully, Jessica had to sidestep to avoid being shoved aside.

For the longest time, he stood by the bed, staring down at Jon, saying nothing. Then he abruptly turned around. “Miss Emerson, I will have a word with you in the parlor downstairs. Now.”

The man was appallingly offensive. But that wasn’t what shocked Jessica the most. Somehow he knew her maiden name and used it.

“I’ll stay here,” Herlin said.

With one last glance at her husband, Jessica preceded the general out of the room and down the stairway. She took a seat on the parlor sofa and waited for him to sit, too. He didn’t. Instead, he remained there, towering over her. His evil gaze bored into her and she had to fight the urge to recoil.

“Herlin told me what you did last night to care for Jonathan Kinsley,” he said curtly. “Your efforts are appreciated. However, your services are no longer needed.”

“My… my services…?” Jessica stammered. “I… I don’t under—?”

“Fine. Let me put it another way,” he interrupted icily. “My name is Seth McLean. Bent Oak Manor belongs to me and I have come to claim it. You are no longer welcome here.”

“But, my husband—”

“Miss Emerson, I believe you were present when the doctor tended Jonathan Kinsley’s injuries. You heard his diagnosis. The man upstairs is as good as dead. You have no husband. At this moment my adjutant is on his way to inform your father you will be returning to live with him. I expect he will come for you shortly. I suggest you go and pack your things. My advice to you is to leave this place and forget you ever knew Jonathan Kinsley.”

“But General, he’s so ill. I… I can’t just leave him—” Jessica squeaked.

“Miss Emerson, must I repeat myself?”

“There must be some mistake,” she murmured. His furious, black glower stopped her from saying more. But, by the time she reached the door, her temper was beginning to flare. She turned back. “You can’t do this. You can’t just come here and order people around with no explanation. You can’t make me leave. This is my husband’s home.”

The general took two steps toward her and Jessica took two terrified steps backwards.

“Madam, I am not a patient man. Do as I say, or I shall have my men forcibly remove you.”

“What about the servants? What about the children? What will you do to them?” she asked and her voice cracked.

“They are not your concern,” he said.

“Are you sending Jon away, too? Who will care for him?”

“It is my understanding, Miss Emerson, that your feelings for Jonathan Kinsley are not fond. I have heard, and I quote that you ‘hate him and wish he were dead’.” The general paused, cleared his throat and his evil glare turned even more sinister. “It is apparent your wish will be granted. You are not welcome in my house, Miss Emerson. Get your things and get out!”

Jessica fled up the stairs to her room. While she pulled her trunk from the closet and began to haphazardly throw things into it, she heard men’s voices muffled in the hallway. She caught enough to know the general had commissioned two different doctors to see Jon. The first one came in the carriage with the army and was with him now.

None of this made sense. Who was this man who called himself General McLean? How could this property belong to him when it belonged to Jon? How could he just banish her this way? How could he be so cruel as to separate her from her husband? She’d never met anyone so disrespectful, so cold, so inherently petrifying in her entire life. Her only hope was that when her father arrived, he could do or say something to get this offensive man to go away, or to at least explain.

* * *

Jessica’s hope for justice upon her father’s arrival was quickly dashed. Trent came alone, and the guards posted at the front porch wouldn’t let him enter the house at all. Thankfully Ditter was there to help. He carried her trunk out to the buggy, where Trent was impatiently waiting.

Trent explained that their father wasn’t home when the military informant came to the house. He said he didn’t want to wait for their father to return. He came right away. Then he asked, “What’s going on here, Jessie?”

Jessica quickly relayed to Trent what happened to Jon, and she told him everything General Seth McLean said to her.

Trent turned to Ditter, and demanded, “Where is this general, Ditter? I need to speak with him.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Emerson. That won’t be possible,” Ditter said. “The general is not to be disturbed.”

“Well, I’m going to disturb him!” Trent snapped. He brushed past Ditter and went straight for the porch.

But there was no way, no matter how belligerent Trent became, the guards would let him pass. He came stomping back toward the buggy, with a uniformed escort flanking him.

“You tried,” Jessica said to placate him. “We should just go.”

“Goodbye, Miss Jessica,” Ditter said quietly. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

Trent turned on him. “What is this about? What do you know? You’d better tell me, old man!”

“Stop, Trent,” Jessica said. She turned to Ditter. “Will you be okay? Will Ruth and Martha and Herlin and everyone else be okay? And the children?”

“We’ll be alright, Miss Jessica. Don’t worry.”

“What about Jon? Who will care for him?”

Ditter looked away. “The general will see that he is properly cared for.”

“How will I know when he—” Jessica couldn’t finish and Ditter said nothing. Choking over her words, she said, “Please tell the children I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. Please tell them I will miss them. I will miss all of you.”

Trent handed her up into the buggy. As they rolled away Jessica couldn’t take her eyes off of Bent Oak Manor. Her gaze came to rest on the upstairs window and it stayed there until the buggy was too far away for her to see.

* * *

“Good morning, Jessie.” Trent popped his head around Jessica’s bedroom door. He was grinning impishly. “Would you like something for breakfast? Pop and I cooked so the biscuits are kind of hard and the bacon is burnt, but it’s still edible. I think.”

Jessica shook her head, unable to find even a half-hearted smile for her brother. He was being so nice, trying to cheer her up with his good humor. She told Trent she would get dressed and be down shortly, but she had no appetite. There were wrinkles in her clothes from being in the trunk, but she didn’t care. It was all she could do to go through the motions of getting herself ready for the day.

She was just finishing with her hair when she heard it—the heavy sound of a carriage in the yard. Her bedroom faced the back of the house, so looking out the window would do no good. All she could think, as foreboding crept through her, was what more could possibly happen?

With her heart in her throat, Jessica put the last pin in her hair and raced out of the room. She was midway down the stairs when the pounding started on the front door. A deep voice called out, “Mr. Emerson, open up!”

Jessica continued her descent, meeting up with her father and brother in the foyer. Her father went for the door and Jessica moved closer to Trent. Two armed, uniformed men stood side by side on the porch.