Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (20 page)

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I adore you.”

“That’s not what you said. I know what those words are. Besides you talked for too long for it to just be that one little sentence.”

“I said you have the most incredibly sexy little bottom, and if you ever again crawl down the bed in front of me like you just did, I will not be able to control myself. I will have no choice but to ravish you throughout the night. I will never be able to let you go.”

Jessica giggled.

“You think it’s funny?” He took her hand and drew it under the blankets. “Feel what you do to me?”

She stroked him until he groaned and closed his eyes. Then, swiftly she pushed the covers down and turned around. On her hands and knees, she mischievously glanced over her shoulder and murmured, “Like this?”

He moved so fast, at his first touch, Jessica let out a startled, “Oh!”

Her cry turned into a long moan of pure pleasure and Jon did just as he said he would.

* * *

Trotting along on Midnight, the man in black was not in any great hurry this night. The Klan had returned to their barn hideout in frustration because their target wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Their work for the night was finished, but his was not.

Even under the slow pace he set, it didn’t take long for him to reach the small, one-story house less than a quarter mile from Shanty Town. It wasn’t far from the burnt church. After dismounting, he grabbed a parcel from his saddle bag, walked up to the front door and pounded on it with his fist.

From the inside, the Reverend Samuel Amos called out, “Who’s there?”

“Don’t open the door, Reverend!” The man in black raised his voice so the holy man could easily hear him. “I’ve been asked to deliver this to you. It’s a gift from a friend. I’ll leave it by the door.”

The man in black rode away. Behind him he heard the door creak open, but he didn’t look back.

* * *

“Oh my goodness!” Samuel Amos exclaimed as he opened the bag left on his doorstep. The bundle contained more money than he had ever collectively seen in his lifetime. The accompanying note read, ‘To rebuild your church’. It was not signed.

Stunned and humbled, Sam looked up. The man on horseback who delivered the package had covered a considerable distance in the brief time Sam had been gawking at the money. He was well down the road, but Sam’s recognition was instant. He knew the voice, too, he realized belatedly. Oddly, however, the accent was different. “Sebastian! Wait! Who gave this to you? Sebastian!” he yelled.

The rider didn’t stop. Sam set his lantern down and took off, bounding down the porch steps and out into the road. As he ran, he shouted, “Sebastian! Wait!”

But he wasn’t fast enough. In a flash of shimmering black, the man and his horse vanished into the night.

Someone was knocking at the bedroom door. The faint tapping roused Jessica from sleep.

“Captain, I’m sorry to disturb you, but Wally sent me. Bonnie is having her foal,” Ditter called out.

It was well before dawn and still dark. Jon was curled on his side next to her, fast asleep.

“Captain, sir. Wally says to come quickly,” Ditter hollered.

“I hear you, Ditter. Just a minute.” Jessica shook Jon’s shoulder until he opened his eyes. “Ditter is at the door. He says Wally sent him. Bonnie is having the foal.”

Blinking, Jon sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Is something wrong, Ditter?” he called out.

“I don’t know, sir. I just know Wally said for you to come right away.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jon said. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. Let me go see what’s going on. I shouldn’t be long.”

He dressed quickly in black trousers, boots and a white shirt. He didn’t bother with his coat. After a hasty kiss, he left her.

Drowsily, Jessica lay back down in the cozy bed and closed her eyes. She wanted to go back to sleep, but thoughts of Bonnie’s foal kept intruding. She had only ever seen one foal just after birth. At the time, she was very young, but the memory of the tiny horse on his spindly legs, trying to stand for the first time, never left her. It was a fascinating sight, one that shouldn’t be missed.

By the time she finished her toilette, sunlight was filtering through the window panes. At least an hour had passed since Jon went out. It was odd that he hadn’t returned. If everything was going well, he wouldn’t need to stay with Bonnie throughout her labor.

Minutes later, Jessica approached the stables. She was surprised to see several of the servants, including Martha, standing outside of it. “Hello,” she said lightly, “Do we have a foal yet?”

“Da cap’n be wit Bonnie now, ma’am,” Martha said.

“Do you think he will mind if I watch?” Jessica asked.

Nobody answered her. Jessica went into the stable anyway.

She heard Jon before she saw him. He was cooing to Bonnie, “Good girl. You can do it, pretty girl. You can do it.”

Herlin and Wally were both there, standing outside Bonnie’s stall, holding lamps. From their apprehensive expressions Jessica knew something wasn’t right. Bonnie wasn’t being silent either. It was obvious from her snorts and whinnies, and the way her head was rolling in the hay, she was in distress.

Jon was kneeling near Bonnie’s backend and running his hands over her distended side. There was a lot of blood and mucus.

“Shhh, Bonnie girl. We’ll get him out,” Jon said. “Wally, come here. I need your help. I going to try to turn him.”

To see better, Jessica took Wally’s place beside Herlin. “What’s happening? What’s the captain going to do?” she murmured.

“Da foal is comin’ out da wrong way, ma’am,” Herlin said.

In awe Jessica watched Jon. His arm up to his elbow was buried in the horse. When Bonnie snorted and groaned, he used his free hand to pet her. “I know it hurts. I know. Hang on, girl. We’ll fix it. We’ll get him out.” Then, angrily he muttered, “Damn it! I can’t get a grip!”

The struggle kept on, but the goal changed. Rather than trying to turn the foal, Jon said they were going to have to bring him out backwards. Jon and Wally worked together while Jon tried to get a hold of the little foal’s legs. Several times he got them, but then one would slip from his grip. Curses flew from his mouth. Sweat beaded his brow. His shirt and his trousers were covered with smeared blood, but he didn’t seem to notice. Throughout he continued to coo to Bonnie.

The only thing Jessica could think to do was try to help soothe the laboring horse. Quietly, she slid along the wall of the stall until she was in the back of it. There, she knelt and gently caressed Bonnie’s long nose, her jaw and her neck. Jon smiled at her briefly, but his focus was entirely on the task at hand.

Inch by painful inch, the little foal entered the world. As soon as it was fully out, Jon ripped away the sack that covered it. He held the limp colt in his arms, shaking it, murmuring, “Breathe, baby, breathe!”

Finally, after what seemed an inordinate amount of time, the little colt drew in air. Jessica released the breath she was holding. Running her hands along Bonnie’s neck, she said, “You did it. Your baby is here. He’s fine and he’s beautiful.”

Not long thereafter, Jessica wasn’t sure what was happening, but Wally took the little colt away. Jon ran his blood stained hands along Bonnie’s abdomen. “What’s wrong?” Jessica asked.

Jon just shook his head.

He continued his vigil, working on Bonnie for a while. The poor horse was bleeding badly and things weren’t happening as they were supposed to. That much Jessica understood. She was still stroking the horse when Jon said, “Herlin, go to the manor house, to the study, and get one of my revolvers. You know where they are in the desk?”

“Yes, suh,” Herlin said and he left.

“But why?” Jessica implored.

“She’s suffering,” Jon said. “She’s bleeding to death.”

He stood up and Wally handed him a towel. Absently he wiped his hands and arms, but when he handed the soiled towel back to Wally, he was still covered with blood that had already dried. “Sweetheart,” he said, “it might be better for you to go back to the house.”

Jessica nodded. On her way out of the barn, she passed Herlin returning with revolver in hand. She was almost to the kitchen when she heard the earsplitting rapport.

Bonnie may have been just a horse, but it was impossible for Jessica not to cry. She ran to her room and crawled back in bed. Her tears were still falling when she heard Jon come up the stairs. By the time he came to her, freshly bathed and dressed, however, they had stopped.

Jessica’s first thought upon seeing her husband was that he looked exhausted. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, and that she knew how much he cared for Bonnie, but he didn’t give her the chance. He stood by the bed only long enough to tell her he had to go out. He would be back in time for dinner.

* * *

Much to Jessica’s dismay, Jon wasn’t alone when he returned that evening. Her father and Arnold Whistler were with him. After the morning they had, and knowing Jon had to be terribly fatigued, the last thing Jessica wanted to do was entertain. Even seeing her father wasn’t appealing. Not right then.

Jon, however, smiled as he came to her and kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, you remember Arnold Whistler? Your father and Mr. Whistler have come to join us for dinner.”

“Of course. We’re glad to have you.” She forced a smile for the hog farmer and accepted the hug from her father. But then, while Jon poured whiskey for them in the parlor, she excused herself. She wanted to make sure Ruth knew to prepare enough for the four of them.

As it turned out, Ditter beat Jessica to it. Ruth already knew. Jessica would have much preferred to remain hidden in the kitchen with Ruth and Martha, but as always, they declined her offer to help. She had no choice but to return to the parlor and Jon’s impromptu guests.

Before going in, she stopped to compose herself. Her intention wasn’t to eavesdrop. With the door cracked open, however, she could hear them clearly. Arnold Whistler was complaining about colored people, blaming them for the rampant crime in Mount Joy. This was the last thing Jessica wanted to listen to. With rising ire, she pasted a smile on her face and went in.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Ditter announced dinner. But his timing wasn’t ideal. As they entered the dining room, Ruth was still in process of setting out the serving dishes.

“Hurry up!” Jon barked.

Ruth was so startled, the platter she was about to set down fell from her grasp. It clanked loudly as it hit the table.

“God damn it, girl! You idiot! Get out!” Jon hollered.

Jessica looked at her husband sharply. “It’s fine,” she said. “Nothing spilled. The platter isn’t broken.”

“That girl is as stupid as an ox,” Jon said crudely. Ruth was still in the room, moving toward the servants’ entrance. There was no way she could have missed hearing him. As if nothing untoward had happened, Jon addressed Luther and Arnold cordially, “Please have a seat.”

Seconds after they had dished up their plates, however, Jon shook his head and scoffed, “Niggers! I apologize. This is pathetic, wholly inedible. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll have that idiot girl bring us a decent, hot meal.”

The food was cold. Jon was right about that. Jessica started to get up, to tell him she would talk to Ruth, but he stopped her.

“No, Sweetheart, I’ll take care of it.” He went out into the foyer. From the dining room, although they couldn’t see him, and although he lowered his voice, every word he said to Ditter was audible. “Boy, you tell that ignorant woman to bring a proper meal for my guests, or so help me, I will beat her senseless. You tell that other one, what’s her name, Martha, to get in here and clear these plates away. Now! Get your ass into fast!”

Jon smiled as he took his seat again. “Please accept my apology,” he said.

“No harm done.” Luther waved his hand dismissively.

Arnold Whistler raised his glass. “Here’s to useless niggers!” he chortled.

Jessica couldn’t look at the pig-faced man. She could barely stand to watch her father and Jon drink with him. Then to make matters worse, her father took up the conversation from the parlor again.

“Arnold was making a good point earlier,” he said. “Crime in our area has increased by more than half and then some. It all started when the army began to give power to the colored folk. The police do nothing, and the colored folk think they can do whatever they please. It’s unbearable what we are expected to endure. Jon, what do you think about all of this?”

“I agree with you,” Jon said attentively. “Since you and I last spoke, I’ve given it a lot of thought, but I am at a loss as to what solutions to offer. It seems to me citizens would need to take on the task of catching these criminals on our own. I would be more than willing to help, but I don’t have the faintest idea how to go about organizing something like this.”

“Jon, have you heard of the Sovereign Sons of the South?” Luther asked.

Jessica sucked in a silent breath. She became even more appalled when Jon smiled at her and said, “Yes, I have. Jessica mentioned them to me. Trent said something as well. It sounds like a noteworthy and much needed group. I certainly would like to learn more.”

Conversation halted as Martha came into the room. Without a sound, she worked methodically at clearing away the full, untouched plates of food. They were neatly stacked on her arm as she retreated toward the servants’ doorway. Just before she reached it, she tripped. The plates crashed loudly to the floor. Particles of fine china and food scattered every which way. Martha didn’t fall, but in an attempt to quickly clean up the mess, she dropped to her knees.

Jon shoved his chair back and strode across the room. Roughly he grabbed Martha by the arm and hauled her to her feet. “Leave it, you fool! Just help that other idiot bring us our meals. You wait to clean this up until we’re finished. Go on! Get!”

With that he shoved her, not caring that she stumbled over the broken plates. Then he slammed the servants’ door right in her face.

As he took his seat, he said casually, “Once again, I am sorry for the interruption.”

Jessica was fuming. She was still fuming when Martha and Ruth, along with Ditter, came in. Their arms were laden with plates and serving dishes to reset the table. The food—beef, potatoes, a myriad of vegetables and breads—was steaming. Jessica could only hope Jon would find no fault this time around.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “Shall we continue our conversation, gentlemen?” But then, as if he just realized the servants hadn’t yet departed, he turned on Ruth, Martha and Ditter. The glare in his eyes was like fire. Jessica had never seen him look so evil.

“What? Have you turned into cows?” he railed at them. “Don’t just stand there. Get the hell out of here so we can eat!”

The three servants quickly retreated.

“Let’s partake of this feast,” Luther said. “Later, Jon, after we eat, Arnold and I would like to speak with you in private.”

Any appetite Jessica might have had was long gone. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Arnold Whistler. She didn’t want to be anywhere near her husband either. And her father’s cryptic way of excluding her from their conversation didn’t help. It wasn’t easy to keep her voice from betraying her temper, but she tried. “Go ahead with your discussion. I believe I shall retire for the evening.”

“Sweetheart, you haven’t eaten. Please have something before you go,” Jon said sweetly.

“No, thank you.”

The last thing Jessica did before leaving the room was kiss her father’s cheek. She was at the dining room entrance when Jon called out to her, “Please close the door behind you.”

It was the last straw! She pulled that door shut as loudly as she could, and she didn’t care one whit what her father, Arnold, or her husband thought of her rudeness!

* * *

“Huh?” Luther raised an eyebrow at the dining room door his little girl had just slammed on her way out. Neither Jon nor Arnold seemed to notice. Perhaps, Luther mused, doors in a place as grand as Bent Oak Manor, were inherently loud. Dismissing his musings, he turned to his son-in-law. It was time to get down to business.