Saving Grace (The Grace Series Book 2) (3 page)

The best stories he and Jessica shared, in his opinion, were the ones that invoked their laughter. Because he liked hearing Jessica’s giggle, he found himself seeking ways to trigger it. For as long as he could remember, he’d easily been able to imitate people. Growing up, he used to amuse his friends. He’d even done it in skits at his father’s church. It was typical for Jessica to inquire after the wellbeing of different parishioners. In responding, Sebastian imitated their voices. He didn’t do it to be mean or to ridicule. He did it to entertain. He did it, because every time he did, Jessica giggled.

Once she remarked that if he could so effortlessly change his accent, he should have pretended he was from the South. By doing so, he would have had a much easier time fitting in. She was right about that. Southerners didn’t care much for Yankees, and with his thick Boston brogue he definitely sounded like a Yankee.

Another time, because he made the mistake of imitating Stephanie Dunn, one of Jessica’s two closest friends, Jessica teased him about how smitten Stephanie was with him. Not only Stephanie. There were several young women in the community, even married women, who flirted with him. He couldn’t deny he was flattered by the attention. He couldn’t deny that Stephanie Dunn was exceptionally attractive either. He’d never met anyone with hair as blond or eyes as pale a blue. Her tall, willowy build appealed to him, too.

Of course, he hadn’t admitted this to Jessica. He was too appalled with himself for letting his eyes stray in the first place. It was fortunate, he supposed, that he found Stephanie somewhat immature and self-centered. Ministers were expected to hold themselves to a higher standard. And even if he was so inclined, he had too much on his plate to consider
courtin’
as they called it in these parts. What he told Jessica was that he wasn’t ready, and that was true.

Jessica knew, of course, about his wife, Margaret. He’d shared many of his memories of Meggie with her. He even told her of the day Meggie died in his arms. It was one of the most agonizing moments of his life, and it had been incredibly difficult to speak of. Jessica’s empathetic sorrow on his behalf, had moved him deeply.

At that time, his acquaintance with Jessica was still in its infancy. Now he considered her a friend—a very good friend. As he approached the front pew, still regarding her closely, Sebastian saw the shimmer of unrest in her eyes. He’d noticed it earlier, too, but she’d arrived late. There hadn’t been time yet to ask her why.

Normally, once the students were gone, rather than staying in the church, they went to the parsonage. It was more comfortable there and the kitchen was stocked with plenty of tea and nibbles. Oddly, Jessica wasn’t gathering her things together. She was just sitting there, staring at the altar, or perhaps she was staring at nothing?

So as not to startle her, Sebastian murmured, “Brrrr, it’s cold outside. Thank goodness I have this excellent scarf.”

His scarf was a Christmas present from her. He’d had a gift for her, too, although it wasn’t actually from him. He’d found the parcel filled with piano scores on the rear stoop of the parsonage with a cryptic note attached. It read, “Jessica won’t accept these unless she believes they are from you.”

His guess was that the gift was either from her father or Trent. Music scores weren’t cheap, and Jessica would have been upset if either of them spent so much on her. She’d told Sebastian more than once that he shouldn’t have. Because of that cryptic note, he’d shrugged her concerns away, but he still felt guilty for not telling her the truth, especially considering how much he liked his scarf. She’d knitted it herself, and it was quite the warmest scarf he’d ever had. What he liked most about it, however, was the color. She’d made it entirely in black. Since the holiday, not a day or night passed that he didn’t wear it when he went out.

She looked up and blinked. Although she smiled, there were bright spots of color in her cheeks. It was almost uncanny how easily he could read her. As he sat down next to her, trying to be flippant, he said, “Alright, now that the kids are gone, out with it. What’s wrong?”

Her hesitation was telling. “I had words with Emily,” she said quietly.

“About?” he prompted.

“Trent. The Klan.” She paused and murmured, “About Jon.”

Captain Jonathan Kinsley was not someone Sebastian preferred to think about. Of late, however, he’d been deliberating over the man entirely too often. In his opinion, the captain was a conceited, gutless racist, and by far, not worthy of the woman seated beside him. Her comment was no surprise. She’d shared enough of her discontent at home for Sebastian to have a fairly good idea of what she’d endured thus far at the hands of the man she married. It immeasurably galled him that he’d been deluded by Kinsley’s charms at first, too. There was nothing Sebastian had done as a minister that he regretted more than performing their wedding ceremony.

Focusing on the here and now, he coaxed Jessica to tell him the details of the argument she had with her friend. It became evident that she felt horribly guilty for losing her temper, and for this Sebastian did his best to assure her Emily would forgive her. With respect to the last issue, whether she should inform the police of her husband’s involvement in the Klan, Sebastian could not advise her. This wasn’t the first time they’d discussed this issue either. He understood her dilemma, but his own judgment was too clouded. The only thing he could do was encourage her to keep faith. He told her to seek wisdom and guidance from God. It wasn’t a bad idea to offer up the same prayer, albeit silently, for himself.

The truth was, Jessica Emerson Kinsley was not just a good friend. She was one of the most remarkable women he’d ever known. This was not because of her refined looks, but because of her selfless benevolence, because of her creative intelligence, because of her courageous dedication, because he could talk to her as he could to no one else. And this was only the beginning. He could go on and on singing her praises, but as he often reminded himself, he needed to stop. The high regard he held for Jessica Kinsley frightened him. It frightened him on many levels, first and foremost being that he was beginning to admire her more than he admired Meggie.

This was his battle, one he needed to come to grips with. For almost two years now, he’d been a widower. If he wanted to pursue Jessica…

But, he couldn’t. Jessica Kinsley was a married woman—a married woman with a child on the way. She and her husband may not have had a civil conversation in months, they may not share a bed any longer, but she was still married.

He couldn’t because in his heart and mind he was married, too. And he wouldn’t because he was still madly in love with his dead wife.

“I see light. Someone is there,” Luther Emerson remarked. He clucked to the horse and slapped the reins to urge it onward. He and his long time friend and mentor, William Hughes, were in sight of the abandoned barn used as a meeting place by the Sovereign Sons of the South.

“I told you he would be,” William said.

William was speaking of the Imperial Wizard, the leader of the Sons. This was the brave man who, after the Klan was disbanded in ’69, insisted on defying the federal government’s edicts. In his proclamation, he stated, “This vital organization is essential for the welfare of the Southern States. We will not let the government dictate where and when we are needed. We will protect our people. We will not disappear…”

To members of the Sons the Imperial Wizard was known only by the moniker, Stone. It was said no one knew his true identity, although Luther didn’t believe this. He was sure, if anyone knew, William did. Stone’s proclamation letter was addressed to William, and William had been in charge of recruitment in the northeast sector. All orders for their sector came from Stone to William, and William subsequently disseminated those orders to the rest of the leadership. Every time Luther asked William if he knew Stone’s name—and he’d asked plenty over the last couple years—William said he didn’t know. Luther was sure William was lying. Even so, he understood why it was necessary. William was merely doing his duty by protecting the Son’s supreme authority, and for that Luther couldn’t begrudge him. He would never begrudge William anything. He owed him too much.

William had taken Luther under his wing in the summer of ’41. At the time he’d been a mere lad of eighteen and green as green could be. Before that, he knew William through the church, but not well. They didn’t run in the same circles. William was ten years his senior, and already married with children. That summer, Luther’s parents died in an outbreak of cholera. If it weren’t for William’s guidance and expertise, Luther would have never been able to take over the daily operation of his father’s farm. In addition, William was highly respected and well-known about town. He was active in the community and a member of just about every political, business and social club. By tagging along, Luther eventually made a name for himself, too. Without these valuable contacts he would have never been able to turn his farm into the prosperous enterprise it once was.

It was William, too, who introduced Luther to his beloved Eva—God rest her soul. In those early years, William and his wife, Adelaide had been there through the good and the bad, lending a hand, and money, a time or two. The night Trent was born, Adelaide tended to Eva, while William plied Luther with enough whiskey to keep him from losing his mind. William and Adelaide were there, too, when Luther and Eva’s second child, another boy, died at birth.

Luther had loved Eva dearly. She was beautiful, smart and could play the piano like a dream. But she wasn’t strong. Following their stillborn son’s birth, she had three miscarriages, one right after the other. When she became pregnant again, she took to her bed, certain she would lose this child, too. Jessica’s birth, to say the least, was a blessed miracle. It took its toll on Eva, however. Afterwards she could barely care for Jessica, let alone take care of Trent and the house.

William was the one who suggested Luther buy slaves. He accompanied Luther to the auction and helped him choose. Getting Maybell and Titus was by far the best decision Luther ever made. With them at the farm, he didn’t have to worry whether his children were being looked after properly. Sammy, the boy, was too young to do much work, but he was a good playmate. Sammy kept Trent occupied so he wouldn’t disturb his ailing mother. And, having Titus’s help in the fields, turned out to be a godsend.

Luther didn’t like to think about Eva’s passing. Those days still seemed surreal to him. William sent his two youngest boys, Benjamin and Alfred—such good boys they were—to help Titus with the farm work. This enabled Luther to spend time with his wife, and to make the arrangements for her funeral. Looking back, Luther thought without William’s quiet, solid presence, and his gently offered assistance, he would have never made it through. He could only hope he’d been as much of a comfort during William’s losses as William had been to him.

William and Adelaide had six children, four boys and two girls. Luther often thought if all his children had lived, he too would have six. William’s oldest contracted scarlet fever at a very early age, which left him simple-minded. The other three boys, like Trent, went to fight in the war. But, just like with Eva’s miscarriages, one right after the other, the telegrams came, all in the second half of ’64. Poor Adelaide was so distraught, she couldn’t leave the house. She still wouldn’t. Visitors weren’t allowed in either.

Alfred, their youngest, was the last to lose his life. He was killed in battle with a colored Yankee battalion. In all the years he’d known him, Luther couldn’t remember William ever raising his voice or being particularly demonstrative. He was always composed, always a gentleman, but not the day that telegram arrived. Luther didn’t think he would ever forget the emotional howl that came out of William’s throat, or how he fell to his knees and wailed, “Niggers murdered my boy! My son! God damn them! God damn them all to Hell!”

The northeast sector of the Sovereign Sons of the South had six elders. Of the six, Luther didn’t know why only he and William had been summoned to this particular meeting. There was no indication on the short note as to the purpose either. This, in and of itself was disconcerting. Luther supposed his apprehension was what made him pull the brake so hard the buggy roughly jolted. Molly, his horse, wasn’t too happy with him and neither was William. He pretended not to notice the glare William threw his way.

Luther had only ever seen Stone once before this. He’d been nervous then, and he felt no differently this time around. The powerful man was quite intimidating, especially covered as he was in his dark purple robe.

Luther followed William to the barn door, where William raised a fist. The wrap was coded. Three rapid knocks followed by two slower ones.

“Come!” a deep, guttural voice called out.

William pushed open the door. Luther had never noticed how loudly the hinges on that door creaked, but he did now. There, emerging from the shadowy far side of the barn, carrying a single lantern, was the formidable, draped figure. He looked the same as Luther remembered, cloaked entirely in shards of midnight purple. Even his hands were covered. The eyeholes in the hood were nothing like the large round holes the Klansmen cut out of their white sheets. Stone’s holes were mere slits, leaving his eyes in shadow. The recession was so deep, even up close, it was impossible to determine the color of the man’s irises.

Stone wasn’t particularly tall, but he wasn’t short either. The breadth of his shoulders did, however, give off an otherworldly, sinister appearance. As he moved toward them, his robe scraped across the ground. It was such a long garment, not even the toe tips of his boots peered out from under it. Luther often wondered about Stone’s age, whether he was older or younger than he and William. Obviously he couldn’t tell by looking at him in costume. The only way to guess would be through his voice, but the gravelly menacing tone gave nothing away.

He didn’t greet them. He didn’t shake their hands. He simply ordered, “Sit.”

Luther promptly did as he was told. William tucked behind the makeshift elders’ table next to him, and they waited for their fearsome leader to do the same. He sat across from them and pointedly put the lantern on the center of the table. The glare from the lamp light made it difficult to look at his cloaked face. Luther was pretty sure he’d placed the lantern in that spot for that very reason.

Now that they were seated, he believed Stone might exchange a pleasantry or two with them. At the very least he expected Stone to inquire after William’s wife and family. He didn’t.

“I am here for two reasons,” Stone said. “The first is this character I’ve been hearing so much about. I’ve read your reports, but I want to hear from you directly. I believe you refer to him as the spook?”

It suited Luther just fine to sit back while William fielded the Imperial Wizard’s questions. William did a decent job, too, conveying details such as number of raids foiled, how often within these foiled raids shots were fired at Klansmen, and the condition of their two members, Edward Murphy and Abe Bellows, who had been attacked and beaten. He informed Stone that he’d instructed the elders to have their subordinates take up arms to defend themselves if fired upon. He also spoke of the group of five he’d appointed to the task of following the spook. Their goal, of course, was to figure out who he was. Thus far, however, they had little success. Whenever they were able to pick up the spook’s trail, he eluded them.

“Your reports state you believe a local minister is your spook?” Stone commented.

“Yes, the Reverend Sebastian Nash. He’s a Yankee.” William went on to list the evidence, beginning with Nash’s accent and his possession of revolvers, and ending with the reverend’s large black stallion. He explained about Nash inviting colored folk to church and how the Yankee reverend even had a colored minister speak during the service.

Stone waited until William finished, and he said, “Emerson, do you have anything to add?”

“No, no sir,” Luther stuttered. “William is correct about everything. We have our theories, but have had no success in confirming them.”

For the longest time thereafter, Stone said nothing. He was just looking at them, angling his head toward William then toward Luther, then back again. At least, that’s what he appeared to be doing. Under the glare of the light, it wasn’t easy to decipher exactly what he was looking at.

When finally he spoke, his voice was very low. “The second issue I want to discuss with you is related to a report that came to me from another source. It contained information about the northeast I find disturbing.”

“Who did it come from? What was said?” William questioned.

Stone didn’t answer him. Instead he said, “If the report is unfounded, as I believe it to be, then there is nothing for you to do. But if not, if the report is accurate, it means my orders have been blatantly ignored. Let me be very clear. I will not tolerate insubordination. I will not tolerate it from you, and I will not tolerate it from the men who report to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” William said.

“Yes, sir,” Luther mimicked.

“I will say this only once,” Stone went on. “The Sovereign Sons of the South exist to preserve our homeland and the rights of our fellow Southerners. As such, there will be times when our actions may not be in line with current laws. In other words, there will be times when our members must break the law. However, this does not mean with violence. We are fortunate to have witnessed the mistakes of the Klan. Repeating those mistakes will only be detrimental to our cause. We do not want to be forced to disband again. I have never ordered, nor will I ever order, you or your men to commit acts of extreme violence. This is not the way to achieve our goals.” He paused. “Have any of your men disobeyed you? Have any of your men overstepped your authority?”

“Not that I’m aware of, sir,” said William.

“I don’t believe so, sir,” said Luther, but he was confused. If he heard correctly, Stone just said no violence. Luther always followed directives that came from Stone through William, and these contained plenty of violence. Perhaps he didn’t understand what Stone meant by extreme. There was no time to dwell upon the issue, however. Stone was speaking again. He needed to pay attention.

“With regard to this man of God, Nash. What he’s doing in his church is a problem. There are class distinctions to be maintained. Hughes, I’m going to take some time to think about this. I will let you know what needs to be done.”

“Yes, sir,” William said. “We also believe Nash is the spook, sir. What should we do about that?”

“You may be convinced, but I am not. Further investigation is required,” Stone said. “Emerson, I would like you to take charge of this. You will appoint men to assist you, as you see fit. All sightings and encounters must be documented. You will report your findings directly to me. You may use Houser to deliver your reports. This is critical. We cannot dally. The safety of our men is my primary concern. Is that clear?”

Luther couldn’t believe the Imperial Wizard had singled him out, and for such an important undertaking! “Yes, sir. You can count on me, sir,” he blurted.

“Good. I have nothing else,” Stone said. “Is there anything you would like to discuss?”

While on their way, William had agreed, if the opportunity arose, to speak to Stone about Jon Kinsley. Luther looked at his friend, but William wasn’t saying anything. It didn’t occur to him until that moment that perhaps William was upset. By assigning Luther with the task of reporting on the spook, Stone had, more or less, usurped William’s superiority in the northeast. Of course, Luther had no choice but to accept the responsibility. He couldn’t possibly say no to the Imperial Wizard. William couldn’t be angry with him for that.

“Is there something you would like to say to me, Emerson?” Stone asked.

Luther didn’t realize his fidgeting was so obvious. Flustered, he stuttered, “Um, yes, um, I was wondering if my son-in-law might be considered for leadership?”

“Your son-in-law? I assume you’re referring to Captain Jonathan Kinsley? Fought in the confederacy during the war? Inducted to the Sons in November?”