Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (31 page)

Jessica smiled and corrected, “How much longer until I can play as
well
as you? If you practice every day, the way you have been, you will be playing as well as me before you know it.”

The words were barely out of her mouth, before the front door slammed. Jon was yelling for Ditter, and as usual, he wasn’t alone. Jessica glanced at the clock. He was more than an hour earlier than expected. As she and Willy stepped out from behind the piano, protectively she wrapped her arm around the little boy. There was no way for them to get out of the parlor without passing Jon and his guest. Instinctively, Jessica knew, Jon’s reaction to Willy’s presence wasn’t going to be pleasant. To her own dismay, her heart began to beat erratically.

“Hello, Sweetheart,” Jon said sweetly. For a moment his eye was pointedly fixed on Willy, but then he said, “Mr. Hughes has come for a visit.”

“Yes, of course.” Jessica didn’t bother making the effort to properly greet Mr. Hughes. “If you will excuse us, we were just leaving.”

She tried to prod Willy forward, but the little boy stood firm. A fearful, “Hello, Cap’n,” squeaked out of him.

“Boo!” Jon sniggered back.

Before she could catch him, Willy ducked out from under her arm. In a second he was gone.

Jessica forgot the children had all been instructed to acknowledge Jon whenever they saw him. Willy did only what he’d been told to do. Jon was chuckling, as was William Hughes. Jessica’s hands fisted, but the only way she could convey the contempt she felt for her husband was through her glare.

Apparently he was oblivious. Casually, he said, “You’ll have to excuse my wife, William. She is conducting a ridiculous experiment to see if she can teach a nigger to play the piano.”

Both men were still laughing as, without a word, Jessica strode purposefully from the room.

Her next stop was the kitchen where she hoped to find Willy. She wanted to reassure him he did nothing wrong. Martha, Ruth and Herlin were there, but there was no sign of Willy. Herlin told her he was outside with the other children.

Jessica sat down at the table to share with Martha and Herlin what happened in the parlor. She apologized for Jon’s crass treatment of their son, and asked them to encourage Willy not to let the incident deter him from his practice in the future.

Herlin grinned. “Don’t worry, Miss Jessica. I don’t think Willy’ll ever give up dat piano.”

That made Jessica smile. Ditter was the one of them who kept track of Jon’s schedule, but because he wasn’t there and she didn’t want to go anywhere near the parlor again, she asked Herlin, “Do you know, by chance, what the captain’s plans are for the evening? Will he be going out?”

“I thinks he’s stayin’ in tonight,” Herlin said.

“Ruth,” Jessica said next, “I would like to eat in my room this evening. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to bring up a tray?”

“Not at all, Miss Jessica. I’m happy to,” she said.

“Thank you. I think I’m going to rest for a while. I’m a little tired. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Are ya feelin’ alright, Miss Jessica?” Herlin asked. He looked concerned.

“I’m fine, Herlin.”

A couple of hours later, however, she wasn’t fine. Ruth knocked and called out, “Miss Jessica. It’s me, Ruth.”

Jessica expected Ruth to have a tray for her, but when she opened the door, Ruth’s arms were empty.

“Miss Jessica,” Ruth said hesitantly, “the captain asked for you to come down to dinner. He says he wants to speak with you.”

“No.” Jessica was firm. “I have nothing to say to him.”

“Please, ma’am,” Ruth pleaded.

The only reason Jessica agreed to go was so Jon wouldn’t yell at Ruth, as undoubtedly he would do. But, before she left her bedroom, she needed a few minutes to bolster her resolve. Standing in front of her vanity mirror, she noticed the dark patches beneath her eyes. Her headaches were keeping her up at night—headaches she wouldn’t have if it weren’t for her horrible husband!

She took another moment at the bottom of the stairs. Her plan was simple. She would remain calm. She would listen to whatever warped things Jon wanted to say to her, but she would say nothing in return. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult. She had nothing to say to him anyway and she never would!

He was all smiles and politeness when she walked into the dining room. “There you are, Sweetheart. I hope you won’t mind joining me for dinner? It’s been a while since we’ve shared a meal together.”

Jessica brushed past him to her seat. He followed to hold her chair for her. It was all she could do to keep from recoiling as his fingertips brushed her shoulder. Next she busied herself dishing food onto her plate. In doing so, she didn’t bother passing the serving dishes to him as would have been proper. Whether he noticed, or cared, she wasn’t sure. He didn’t say anything about it. He simply picked them up again. Jessica had no intention of looking at him, but she could feel his eyes on her. He followed her every bite.

“I understand you are feeling under the weather. You do look a little pale. Is there anything I can do? Should I send for a doctor?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Jessica shoved a forkful of sugar coated carrots into her mouth.

“Sweetheart, I think we need to talk,” Jon said. “It’s been what? At least a week since I’ve seen you at all.”

Determined to stick to her plan, Jessica said nothing.

“There are some things I need to say to you.” He paused as if waiting for a reply. When none came, he went on, “First, I want to apologize for bruising you. I didn’t realize I was holding your arm so tightly. I hope you know I would never intentionally do anything to harm you.”

Jessica continued her silent vigil.

“Sweetheart, please look at me,” he said.

She did, just briefly, raising one haughty eyebrow.

“I have tickets to the opera in Nashville for two weeks from Saturday,” he said. “I would like for us to go together.”

“No.”

“Please,” he said. “I think it would be a welcome change of scenery, and perhaps provide an opportunity for us to relieve some of this tension that has developed between us.”

“Tension? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

Casually she took a sip of wine. “I have no interest in going with you anywhere. Invite one of your fellow Klansmen to go with you.”

For a long time he said nothing. This was perfectly fine with Jessica. She ate quickly—the sooner she could get away from him the better. But then, even though his plate was still relatively full, he set his utensils down, sighed deeply and said, “I would like to ask you to keep the children out of the parlor when we have company. It will save us both a lot of heartache.”

“Heartache? Hmm. That’s funny. I didn’t know you had one.”

He actually smirked. Jessica couldn’t believe it. His stupid, crooked grin was enough! Whatever was left of her resolve to remain stoically silent dissipated instantly.

“Yes, heartache,” he went on. “Sweetheart, I want to explain—”

“Don’t call me that!” Jessica heatedly cut him off. “I am not your sweetheart. You make me ill. I don’t like you. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

“You don’t really mean that,” he said. “You’re just upset with me right now. But we can get past this little squabble, don’t you think? I—”

“Little squabble?” Jessica stood up. “Listen to me, you sick, disgusting excuse for a human being. This is much more than a little squabble. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to think about you. I don’t like you! Go be with your disgusting Klan! Go lynch somebody!” She was only slightly appeased when she saw him flinch.

“Sweetheart, please don’t do this,” he said softly. “I love you.”

“You don’t know what love is!” she snarled. “All you know is rudeness and cruelty and… and murder!”

“I do love you,” he said humbly.

“Isn’t that special!” she spat. “Save your breath. Save your efforts. I will not speak with you ever again! Because I
hate
you!”

Headaches and fatigue were not the only things causing Jessica’s physical distress. She didn’t say anything to anyone, but it seemed like almost every day she woke feeling unwell. This morning was no different, except perhaps the queasiness was somehow worse. She had to quickly roll from bed and grab the chamber pot. No matter how much swallowing she did, her stomach wouldn’t settle.

The only problem with retching, of course, was that it was noisy. Within seconds, a light rapping sounded at the connecting door and Jon called out to her, “Jessica, Sweetheart, are you ill?”

“Go away!” Thankfully, as always, the connecting door was locked, and so was her hallway door. Oddly enough, now that she had whatever was upsetting her out of her system, she felt much better. Even so, it was too cold and too early to be out from under the blankets.

As she settled back into the warmth of her bed, she heard Jon move through the hallway and down the staircase. Within minutes more footsteps came up. These, however, were not her husband’s. The knock on her bedroom door preceded the soft voice calling out, “Miss Jessica, it’s Martha. Da cap’n aksed me ta check on ya. He says you’s ill.”

Jessica swept her blankets aside, hastily slipped into her robe and hurried to the door to let Martha in.

“I did get sick, but I feel fine now.” She crinkled her nose to indicate the covered chamber pot.

“I’ll clean dis up right away,” Martha said. “Ya go on back ta bed. I’s gonna bring ya somethin’ to eat. Toast and tea’ll be good for ya.”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“Miss Jessica, ya hafta try ta eat somethin’. Toast will hep settle yer stomach an’ Ruth’ll fix ya up some o’ dem eggs ya like, too.”

“No, Martha!” Jessica said curtly. “I don’t want anything!”

Looking suddenly contrite and humble, Martha said, “I’s sorry, ma’am. I don’t mean ta upset ya.”

Jessica was terribly appalled with herself. She’d never raised her voice to Martha before. She’d never raised her voice to any of the servants, not like this. “I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I just feel funny. Not sick funny, but in my head funny. I can’t get hold of any of my thoughts. I’m just… oh, I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“If’n ya don’t mind, Miss Jessica, kin I aks ya, are ya wit chile?”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “What? Oh! Oh my!” Thinking back, Jessica realized the last time she had her courses was before her wedding. How she could have missed this normal monthly occurrence was beyond her, but that issue, along with the morning nausea were not the only telltale signs. She couldn’t believe she didn’t realize it on her own. Martha was smiling at her. “I must be! Oh my!”

“Congratulations, ma’am. Do ya want me ta tell Herlin to aks da cap’n if’n he kin bring da docta?”

“No, no, Martha. I don’t want the captain to know.” Jessica vehemently shook her head.

Panic rose in Martha’s eyes. “Miss Jessica, ya can’t keep dis from ’im. Ya hafta tell ’im. He’ll be angry witchya if’n ya don’t. I kin tell ’im for ya, if’n ya wants me to.”

Martha’s offer surprised her. She didn’t think any of the servants would ever voluntarily approach Jon. Nevertheless, because she had no desire to see her husband herself, she ended up telling Martha to go ahead.

Once she was alone in her room again, Jessica couldn’t hold back her joy. Standing in front of her mirror, she touched the front of her stomach. Stretching her nightgown tightly around her torso, she turned to the side and looked at herself that way, too. She didn’t look any different. Her stomach wasn’t swollen. Not yet anyway. But, she was going to have a baby!

The idea was thrilling and frightening at the same time. There was so much to think about, and so much to plan. She would need a cradle for it, and diapers and little clothes. Oh, but that was just the beginning! She wondered whether it would be a boy or girl, would it would be healthy, what would she name it?

Of course, her father would be ecstatic. She couldn’t wait to tell him! And Trent. Just imagining Trent’s reaction caused her to giggle aloud. Her girlfriends would be happy for her, especially Emily, who longed for a child of her own, too. She wondered what Reverend Nash would say.

Goodness, there was entirely too much to think about! Would she be a good mother? Would she know what to do when her baby cried? What would it feel like to hold him, to rock him to sleep, to coddle him and feed him at her breast? What would childbirth be like? Would she be able to bear the pain? What if it didn’t go well? Bonnie’s struggle to bring her foal into the world came to mind.

Her husband came to mind.

Would Jon be pleased? He probably would be, but oh, she didn’t want him to be pleased! If he was, it meant she couldn’t be. As Jessica ran once more through the litany of reasons why she despised him, a lump lodged in her throat. Just like he ruined everything, he would ruin this, too!

She hadn’t spoken a word to him since their heated discussion in the dining room, and he’d made no attempt, until that morning, to say anything to her. Another Sunday passed in which he didn’t accompany her to church. His daily habits hadn’t changed either. Most of the time, during the day, he was away from the manor. When he was there, he kept company with his fellow Klansmen.

This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. As often as she could Jessica sneaked up outside of the parlor doors, where she could easily eavesdrop. It was a relief Trent’s voice was never among the others. Whether or not he was still involved she didn’t know. There had been no time at church to talk with him about it. But she had to believe her visit with him made a difference. Her father was never part of Jon’s entourage either and that was a good thing, too.

From those parlor meetings, she learned a great deal about a man named David Houser, who apparently was a good friend of Harry Simpson’s. He’d been living in Pulaski and was involved with the Sons there. Due to the rapidly increasing membership in the northeast sector, the Sons were realigning and needed more leaders. David Houser and Edward Murphy had been promoted to elders. Jessica could have cared less about David Houser, Edward Murphy and the realignment. Her primary objective was to find out what she could about the spook, or more importantly whether they still suspected Reverend Nash. Occasionally she heard them speak of the spook, and she heard them complain about Reverend Nash, but as of yet she heard no plans to do something harmful to him. She knew, however, it was only a matter of time. And when that time came, she would be able to tell Reverend Nash in advance so he could protect himself. She was determined to keep him safe.

Not much later, Jessica was washed and dressed and feeling notably famished. As she made her way downstairs, she hoped Jon would be out. Normally by this time of day he was. There was no question in her mind that Martha had already told him the news. Martha would have gone straight to him after leaving Jessica’s bedroom. The moment she stepped into the dining room, her hope that Jon already left was dashed. He was there, and obviously he was waiting for her.

Oddly, although he looked at her, he said nothing. Ignoring him, Jessica took her seat and reached for a muffin to nibble on. He sat down, too, but didn’t dish anything onto his plate. He just sat there, staring at her. After a while, Jessica couldn’t take it any longer.

“Have you nothing to say?” she spouted. By his expression he wasn’t happy. If anything, he looked terribly disturbed. The only explanation for his sour face, and for his continued silence, was that he didn’t want the child!

All the better! She wouldn’t have to share the baby, or anything about it, with him. This beautiful new life would be hers and hers alone to care for, to revel in, to love! Even as these thoughts floated through her mind, she was devastatingly hurt that he didn’t care. Her appetite suddenly gone, she threw her napkin onto her plate and stood up.

“I would appreciate it if you would say nothing about the baby to my family. I would like to tell them myself.”

A single, curt nod was his only acknowledgement of her request. He still said nothing.

“Damn you!” she cried.

Then she fled, out into the foyer, up the stairs and to the sanctity of her locked bedroom. There she flung herself across her bed, curled her arms around her pillow and wept.

* * *

For this night’s raid, William Hughes insisted upon having several of the elders present. He didn’t say it in so many words, but Luther knew what William’s concerns were. William believed David Houser, the man Stone sent up from Pulaski and subsequently promoted to elder status, wasn’t up to the task. More than that, even though Houser was Stone’s man, William suspected he might be the spook’s informant.

Once the raid was fully underway, however, Luther was fairly certain William’s concerns would be appeased. Houser took over with authority, and he was ruthless, not only in beating the criminal they’d come for—a colored fellow named Tobias—but also in dealing with Tobias’s two companions. Houser decided all three of them should be lynched.

From where he parked himself to observe, Luther kept a close eye on his son-in-law, too. Jon, it appeared, was trying to get into Houser’s good graces. He was right alongside the new elder throughout the raid. At one point the criminal grabbed Jon’s boot and begged for mercy. “Please help me. Please, suh. Please!” the colored fellow pleaded.

Kinsley roughly kicked the colored man away. “Get off me, you filthy pig,” he hollered, and then nailed him with his boot. The hit was so hard Luther heard the pop of breaking bone. Tobias wailed loudly, and Luther actually caught himself flinching on the criminal’s behalf.

Kinsley was right there, too, to help string them up. He took over with one of the three, while Houser concentrated on their original target. Luther was thankful when finally the criminals were hanging, and his white-cloaked brothers rode off. He was ready to move on.

Purposefully he caught up to Houser and Jon, who was still at Houser’s side. “Let’s celebrate,” he suggested. “The tavern is calling.”

“Sounds good to me,” Houser agreed.

Whistler, who was on the other side of Jon, chortled, “This is a treat. Houser, you never join us at the tavern.”

“Not much of drinker, usually.” Houser shrugged.

“You’ll have to count me out,” Jon said. “I have to get back to my wife. She’s under the weather. In fact, I really should get going—”

“Jon,” Luther said anxiously, “Jessie has been unwell for a while now. Every night, you go home early. I’m beginning to be concerned for her. Have you had the doctor out?”

“The doctor says she’ll be fine, but I’m still worried,” Jon said.

“If she’s sick, she’s sick,” Arnold piped in. “If the doctor says she’ll be okay, she’ll be okay. There isn’t anything you can do whether you’re with her or with us. Come out with us, Jon. It’s been so long since you joined us, I can’t remember the last time.”

“I really think I’d better go home. I am sorry,” Jon insisted.

William Hughes rode up on the other side of Luther. Apparently he was listening in. “Kinsley,” he said. “We’re beginning to think you don’t like us.”

“But my wife—” Jon started.

William interrupted him. “Pardon me, Luther, but it seems to me that daughter of yours is becoming troublesome. Whistler told me, Jon, how she went behind your back and spent money on lumber without telling you. And to repair niggers’ houses! I couldn’t believe it when I heard. She used to be such a docile little thing.”

“You’re right,” Jon grunted. “I am still upset with her for doing that.”

“Come to the tavern with us, Jon,” Houser said.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me,” Jon said. “She’s probably already asleep anyway. Whiskey sounds pretty darn good right now!”

* * *

“Are ya alright, suh?” Herlin asked.

It was still dark, but morning would soon be dawning, and Captain Kinsley had just ridden in. From where he stood, just inside the stable doors, Herlin watched the captain awkwardly slide off the big horse. Even worse was the way he teetered on his feet, shifting sideways before stumbling and falling against the big animal. At least the beast had enough wherewithal not to move.

“Leave me alone, Herlin,” he growled. His speech was so slurred, Herlin could barely understand him. “Just take care of Webster.”

In the dim light of Herlin’s lantern, their eyes met.

“God damn it, Herlin! Don’t look at me!” the captain yelled. He turned, tripped clumsily over a clump of hay and caught himself on the fence rail. Then he pushed himself off and headed toward the mansion.

From where he stood, holding Webster’s reins, Herlin watched the captain’s silhouette in the moonlight, limping and staggering across the yard. He was little more than halfway to the house when he stopped. For the longest time he just stood there unmoving. Then he stretched his arms out and raised his head. He was staring up at the moon, as if transfixed by its light. Loudly, cracking open the stillness of the night, he cried out, “Damn it! God damn it!
God
…”

As his shout faded to nothing, his shoulders hunched forward and he covered his face with his hands. Maintaining that defeated stance, in a crooked, lumbering gait, he continued on.