Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (22 page)

“Are you Luther Emerson?” one of them asked.

Her father nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Mr. Emerson, you are under arrest for the murder of Carl Robbins,” the guard said.

Jessica gasped. Beside her Trent became ramrod stiff.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There must be some mistake,” her father retorted.

“No mistake, sir. You will need to come with us,” the guard said.

Trent strode forward. “No, he will not! You can’t just come in here making these accusations. Who are you people? Where do you come from? Who sent you?”

“I did.”

Jessica may have only met the man once, but she knew General Seth McLean’s voice instantly. A second later, the horrible white-haired man boldly stepped between his two guards right into their home.

“Mr. Emerson, my name is Seth McLean. By the authority vested in me by the United States Army, I am here to serve a warrant for your arrest. You will come with me now and you will be incarcerated at the city jail in Nashville until your trial.”

“But I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know Carl Robbins,” her father protested.

“It would be best for you to withhold any comments until you’ve had a chance to speak with your attorney. You do have an attorney?” the general asked.

Her father shook his head.

The general looked at Trent. “I suggest you retain counsel for your father.” To Luther he said, “It’s time to go, Mr. Emerson.”

“No!” her father barked.

“Mr. Emerson, if I have to, I will instruct my men to bind you and remove you from this house. I would prefer not to have to give that order.” When he nodded, the two guards flanked her father.

“I won’t go,” he said. “This has to be a mistake.”

The general raised one imposing eyebrow. “No mistake, Mr. Emerson. It’s time to go.”

The guards took hold of him and at first her father struggled, but he quickly seemed to realize the futility of it. He looked terribly scared. Jessica had never seen him scared, not like this. They took him to the coach outside and shoved him into it. It had bars on the windows.

The courtroom smelled strongly of sweet wax. Every bench was shoulder to shoulder with people. Jessica was thankful she and Trent arrived as early as they had, because they had good seats in the middle of the second row directly behind the prosecutor’s table.

Since their father’s arrest the week before, Trent had done his best to find out what he could about the whole mess. He’d gone into Mount Joy several times, hoping to run into someone with information, but he’d learned very little. Even the newspapers he brought home had no articles that shed light on what was happening. There was nothing about the military coming to Bent Oak Manor, or Jonathan Kinsley being shot and killed either.

Mid-week Trent went to Nashville to discuss their father’s case with his attorney. His first inquiry was whether visitation was possible. He was told it was not. The only things the attorney would share were the date and time of the trial, and that neither Trent nor Jessica would be asked to testify. No explanation was given as to the source of the allegation, or whether their father was accused of anything more than what they’d heard during his arrest.

They only thing Jessica and Trent knew before coming to the courthouse was that several members of the Sovereign Sons of the South had been arrested. Even though her father was involved with the group, it was preposterous to think he could be responsible for Carl Robbins’s death. Her father wasn’t a violent man. He would never even consider doing something so horrendous. Jessica could only hope and pray his attorney was competent enough to prove it.

Shortly before the trial was to begin, General Seth McLean walked into the courtroom. Jessica was very glad her brother was next to her, because just seeing that awful man made her want to cower. He, however, didn’t even look at them. He sat in the row ahead of theirs, next to the aisle.

All week long, Jessica’s encounter with him at Bent Oak Manor replayed in her head. She was still puzzled over why he’d called her by her maiden name. This, coupled with the way he’d told her to forget Jonathan Kinsley ever existed, made her think he wanted her to act as if she’d never been married. But there was no way she could do this. She’d been Jon’s wife for almost nine months. She’d carried his child. She wanted to tell the general what she truly thought of him. She wanted to tell him normal people didn’t just forget about others.

Forgetting Jon was impossible. More than her father, more than the servants and children, more than even Sebastian, she thought of her husband. Much of the time she envisioned him as he once was, strong and healthy. But she couldn’t shake the memory of him at the end either. He’d been lying in that bed, so terribly pale, so wretchedly unwell. For a time, she’d wondered if he was still somehow clinging to life, but as each day passed she realized he couldn’t possibly be. In the beginning, when this thought came over her, her eyes smarted and her throat grew tight. Now, she just felt numb.

She knew all of this dissonant emotion wasn’t because she’d cared about Jon. It was caused by everything else—the atrocities of the Klan, being thrust out of her home, leaving the children and servants behind, not knowing where they were or how they were getting along, the loss of her baby, Sebastian’s passing, the arrest of her father. There had just been too much turmoil, too much stress, too much… death.

Shortly after General McLean took his seat, a number of men in military uniform entered through a side door. Between them were her father and six others. The uniformed men escorted all seven defendants to the tables where their attorneys were already situated. Of the seven, Jessica knew five. In addition to her father, she recognized Arnold Whistler, William Hughes, Edward Murphy and Harry Simpson. The other two defendants she did not know.

Once her father was seated, it was more difficult to see him, but by peering around numerous heads, including the awful general’s, she was able to get a decent view. He was hunched over and his head bowed. Like that, he looked older somehow, and so terribly defeated. All Jessica wanted to do was go to him, put her arms around him, and tell him she loved him.

Soon, she reminded herself, all of this would be over. Soon her father would be released and they could go home.

At precisely nine o’clock, the bailiff announced court was now in session. Everyone rose while the judge entered. Opening arguments came next. The prosecuting attorney was a young, slender man in military dress. His name was Lieutenant Peter Rutherford. Briefly he detailed the charges against each of the defendants. When he was done the defendants’ attorneys took their turns, but it wasn’t long before the last of them sat down.

“Lieutenant Rutherford, call your first witness,” the judge said.

“Thank you, your honor.” Lieutenant Rutherford said. “The prosecution calls Major Julien Grace.”

The double doors leading into the courtroom were drawn open by the guards posted on either side. Trent turned to look and Jessica did too, but because of the people blocking her view, it was impossible to see. What she heard was something being rolled down the aisle. A guard walked behind it, pushing. The brief glimpse she got of one of the wheels confirmed what she thought. The witness being called to the stand was in a wheelchair.

“Oh my God!” Trent exclaimed under his breath. The expression on his face as he glanced at her, and the way he grabbed her hand told her something was dreadfully wrong.

Jessica would have been able to see the chair fully as it passed the front row, but General McLean stood up, obstructing her view yet again. The guard pushed the chair onward, through the wooden gates toward the judge’s bench, but from the angle, and because of the high back of the chair, Jessica still couldn’t see the man in it. She couldn’t see him until the guard stopped the chair in front of the witness stand and turned it around.

The man in the chair was fully dressed in a dark blue military uniform, complete with gold epaulets, bars high on the sleeves and a number of medals pinned to the breast pocket. His black boots were so well buffed they shone. His hands were on the arms of the chair, with his long fingers curled around the edges.

It was obvious he wasn’t well. His head rested against the high back of the chair as if he didn’t have the strength to lift it. But it was his face that made Jessica stop breathing. The circles beneath his eyes were so dark they appeared almost black. The ghastly pallid skin over his cheekbones and cleanly-shaved jaw was stretched taught and sunken.

He looked nothing like the virile, beguiling, bigoted, cruel man who had such a huge impact on her life, yet Jessica’s recognition was instant and indisputable. He was Captain Jonathan Kinsley.

But, he wasn’t Captain Jonathan Kinsley. The prosecutor said his name was Major Julien Grace.

The bailiff came to him carrying a Bible, and told him to place his right hand upon it.

Slowly, the man in the chair lifted his head and raised his arm. Even from the distance Jessica could see the tremor in his hand.

“Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the bailiff asked.

“I do.” His voice was very faint, little more than a whisper.

“Please state your name and rank for the record,” the bailiff said.

“Sergeant Major Julien Grace.” This time he spoke louder, but his voice was still a gruff murmur, and Jessica had to strain to hear him.

The bailiff returned to the opposite side of the judge’s bench, and Peter Rutherford walked over to the wheelchair. He instructed the witness to answer his questions as honestly as he could, and then he said, “Major, the court is aware of your recent injuries. If you need anything, or if you need a break from questioning, let us know.”

The major nodded, and Peter Rutherford asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he said.

Lieutenant Rutherford raised his voice to its full volume. “Major, please tell the court your current position in the army.”

“Intelligence Officer, Ninth Cav… cavalry, Washington, D… D.C.”

Speaking for him seemed to take a great deal of effort. He was breathing between words as he stuttered over them. His eyes were focused on something past the attorney. From where she sat, it looked to Jessica like he was staring at the leg of the prosecutor’s table.

“Would it be correct to say that much of your tenure in the army has been spent working in intelligence?” the attorney asked.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell the court what your primary responsibilities as an Intelligence Officer have been?”

“Undercover op… operations,” the major whispered.

“Most recently, you’ve been on assignment in Tennessee, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Can you briefly describe the nature of your assignment?” the attorney asked.

“I was to infiltrate the… the Sovereign Sons of the South, and to obtain the n…n…names of its leaders.”

“In order to accomplish your assignment, you used a false identity. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“What was the pseudonym you used, Major?”

“Captain Jonathan Kin… Kinsley.”

“As Captain Jonathan Kinsley, you became a member of the Sons?”

“Yes.”

“The testimony you are about to give today is based upon events you witnessed first hand during the time you were a member of the Sons as Jonathan Kinsley. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Jessica could barely breathe. All she knew of this man was based upon a lie, a horrendous deception. Jonathan Kinsley didn’t exist. He was nothing more than a made up character, a name used by this man, Major Julien Grace.

His purpose for being in Tennessee, to bring the Sons—the Klan—down, thrilled her, but at the same time it confused her. He had participated with the Klan in their brutal activity. He had committed murder. He had beaten Herlin, raped Martha. While these thoughts raced through her mind, she pointedly looked at Julien Grace’s left hand. The man she married had never, to her knowledge, removed his wedding ring. Major Julien Grace’s fingers were bare.

Jessica looked at her father. Was he here because he was a leader of the Klan? Had his involvement been more than what Jessica believed it was? As a leader, would he have chosen Klan targets, and given out orders for members of the Klan to carry out murders? She couldn’t believe this of her beloved father!

Peter Rutherford continued his questioning and Jessica’s attention flew back to the man in the wheelchair.

“Major, I’m going to ask you a number of questions about specific incidents involving the defendants. First I’d like to talk about David Houser. Do you know the man who goes by this name?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Do you see him here in this courtroom?”

“Yes”

“Please tell us where you see him for the record.”

“He’s sitting at the far left side of… of the defendants’ table,” the major said, but he didn’t look at David Houser. His focus remained on the table leg.

“Do remember a man named Tobias Washington.”

“Yes.”

“Did you witness the murder of Tobias Washington?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell us, in your own words, Major, the events leading up to Tobias Washington’s death?”

The major spoke in the same barely audible whisper, “I was present during a meeting of the Sovereign Sons of the South in which David Houser volunteered to perform Tobias Washington’s execution. The meeting took place at the Crescent River Bridge at eight o’clock on December 15th.”

He was interrupted by the judge, who said, “Major, can you speak up? I’m having a hard time hearing you.”

The major made no indication that he heard the judge’s request, but when he spoke his whispery voice was louder. “On December 15th, I joined the men at the bridge and went with them to Tobias Washington’s home. Upon our arrival, one of the men threw a lit bottle through the window. The house began to burn. Tobias Washington came out of the house to avoid the flames. Mr. Houser and two other men beat him with clubs, gagged him and tied his hands behind his back. They tied a rope around his neck and dragged him behind a horse to a tree approximately a hundred yards away, and hanged him.”

The attorney asked detailed questions, such as how many men were present at the meeting, how many men were present during the beating and subsequent hanging, and how many men assisted. He asked if the major knew who specifically threw the noose over the tree limb and he replied that David Houser did it. When Peter Rutherford finished, he took his seat at the prosecutor’s table. David Houser’s attorney rose and approached the major.

“Is it typical for members of the Sovereign Sons of the South to wear robes that cover their bodies and hoods that cover their faces?” David Houser’s attorney asked.

“Yes,” the major said.

“When a man is wearing one of these hoods, can you see any part of his face?”

“Just his eyes.”

“During the meeting you attended were the men present wearing their robes and hoods?”

“Yes.”

“Was David Houser wearing his hood?”

“Yes.”

“During the hanging, were the men present wearing their hoods?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Major, if you couldn’t see his face, how do you know David Houser performed the execution, and how do you know it was David Houser who threw the noose over the tree limb?”