Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (33 page)

“Who did it? Who fixed the cabins?” she called out to Jon as soon as he was close enough to hear.

He shrugged, but he didn’t look at her.

Jessica ran until she was beside him. “Was it you?” she asked.

“Me?” he scoffed. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have wasted my money on something so frivolous and unnecessary.”

Dizziness swarmed her again. She had to stop moving. “Jon…” she whispered.

He stopped, too. For a long second he looked at her. Then he said, “Will you give up this ridiculous charade of yours now, Jessica? Will you leave the cabins alone?”

Whatever momentary softening she felt toward him instantly disappeared. If she could have she would have told him what she thought of his callous disregard for the wellbeing of his servants, but she could say nothing. Her head was swimming too badly, and cold seeped into every part of her body. She couldn’t stop shivering, and the green glaze closed in again. She reached up to her forehead, as if that would make the careening go away. She was tipping sideways…

“Miss Jessica!”

Ditter’s voice sounded fuzzy, as if he was hollering to her from the opposite end of a long tunnel. Desperately she tried to make her eyes focus, to maintain her balance, but her knees buckled beneath her.

The next thing she knew Jon was making a funny noise in his throat, like a loud growl. She was in his arms again and he was racing toward the manor house.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she murmured, but she still felt oddly disoriented.

Jon took the porch steps two at a time. “Ditter, send Herlin for the doctor.” The front door was open and he rushed through it. “Martha, bring blankets. Have Ruth make tea.”

Jessica found herself lying on the sofa in the parlor, propped up on a number of throw pillows, with Jon seated beside her. He didn’t say anything, but he frowned as he touched her forehead with the palm of his hand and again with the back of it. Then he took her hands, one after the other, and rubbed them between his.

“I’m fine.” Jessica tried to pull away. She tried to sit up, too, but Jon pressed her back to the cushions.

“Please be still. Please. Just for a minute. Just until I know you’re okay. Please.”

The anxiety in his voice surprised her. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Martha came in with two thick woolen blankets. Jessica would have preferred not to have Jon anywhere near her, but there was little she could do to prevent it. Between him and Martha, she was stripped of her cloak and covered with blankets. Jon was the one tucking them securely around her.

He went for her feet next, unlacing her boots and removing them, along with her stockings. As he did for her hands he began to vigorously rub her feet between his palms. And he whispered, “Jess, dear God, your feet are frozen.”

Jessica stared at him and the concerned concentration in his expression. He didn’t let up on her feet until Martha returned with the tea. Along with the tea, the tray held a tall glass of water and a steaming bowl of soup. Jon moved up the sofa to sit by her hip again. As he handed her the cup he said, “This will help warm you. Be careful. It’s hot.” After that he spoon fed her the soup, and he ignored her protests of being full. He didn’t let up until the bowl was almost empty.

For the longest time thereafter, he just sat there, looking down at her. Finally he said, “Please, Jessica. No matter what you think of me, no matter how much you dislike me, please promise me you will take care of yourself. Please promise me you won’t do things to endanger your health and the health of our child. Please.”

Jessica nodded, but only because of what he said about the baby.

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he smiled faintly and asked, “How’s your thumb?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said.

Jon took her hand anyway, and he took his time inspecting the bruise forming under the nail.

“I have a splinter,” she murmured.

“Where?” he asked softly.

She held out her index finger, showing him the tip.

Squinting, he examined the thin, imbedded sliver. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Her eyes followed him as he limped away, and then she listened to his uneven footsteps on the stairs. Shortly, he returned with tweezers and gently worked to remove the splinter. As she lay there, watching him, she noticed how the skin by his eye had turned a dark pink. His eyelid was swelling, too. The punch she landed did that to him.

“All done,” he said, but he didn’t get up and he didn’t go away, at least not yet.

Jessica closed her eyes. She wasn’t tired, but she hoped if she pretended to sleep, he would leave her alone. Her ploy worked, although it took him long enough. When finally he rose, he leaned over her, softly kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you.”

Jessica opened her eyes in time to watch him limp from the room.

* * *

By the evening, Jessica felt fine. The doctor came, but he didn’t stay long. He didn’t do much, other than ask her questions about what happened. His diagnosis was that she was cold and perhaps a little dehydrated. His orders were plenty of fluids and rest. Thankfully, although she knew Jon was home, he kept himself scarce. Except for his insistence on being present while the doctor was with her, Jessica didn’t see him at all.

The next day, Christmas Eve, however, she wasn’t so lucky. He showed up in the dining room at breakfast, but didn’t eat anything. His only purpose was to tell her emphatically that she would not be venturing out for church. Jessica was ready to fling insults at him and tell him he couldn’t stop her, but she ended up saying nothing at all. Deep down she was relieved by his interference. It was a terribly cold day and she was rather tired. And she had another reason not to go. Because she slept so much the day before, she wasn’t able to finish Reverend Nash’s scarf. Even though she would have enjoyed seeing him, she didn’t want to show up at the church empty handed.

After dinner that evening, while she was in the parlor busily knitting, Jon came in with a Christmas tree. Ditter helped him carry it in, and Herlin followed with a big carton full of ornaments. Ditter and Herlin nodded to her, but they didn’t stay.

As soon as they left, Jon smiled and said quietly, “We can’t have Christmas without a tree.”

Jessica kept on with her knitting.

He worked alone in righting the tree and securing it in the bucket, and then he started digging through the carton of decorations. That in and of itself was distracting enough, but while watching him circling the tree and at the same time trying to untangle the beaded garland, Jessica’s knitting project became completely forgotten. Apparently there were several strands of garland intertwined. Rather than fixing the mess, Jon had them even more twisted and confused. Through it all, he didn’t say anything, but occasionally frustrated mutters came out of him. At one point he had several strings hanging from both hands and others draped over his shoulders. As he turned, he got caught up in the ones dangling around his ankles, and went stumbling. It was all Jessica could do to keep from laughing. Not meanly, but because she was so entertained. She was even tempted to ask if he wanted some help. Finally, though, he got everything straightened out on his own.

Once the garland was strung, quite prettily at that, Jon carried a chair across the room and set it beside the tree. With the star he dug out of the carton in hand, he climbed up on the chair. But the tree was rather big, leaving him with quite a stretch to reach the top of it, and the stuffed seat of the chair wasn’t exactly sturdy. The next thing she knew he lost his balance, and careened right into the tree.

“Oh no!” he yelped. “No! Tree! Come back, tree!”

The frantic expression on his face as he jumped down and hugged the tree in an attempt to keep it from falling over, had her grinning so badly she almost laughed out loud again.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly once the tree was secure again.

Quickly Jessica grabbed up Reverend Nash’s scarf and her knitting needles. Thereafter, while Jon hung ornament after ornament, she tried to ignore him. But he didn’t make it easy. It was especially amusing seeing how particular he was. Several times he went back to relocate ornaments he already hung. Apparently they needed to be placed just so. Once more Jessica found herself wanting to ask to help. Or at least, she wanted to tell him the tree looked nice. But she didn’t do either of those things, and in the end she was glad she didn’t.

She thought he would leave as soon as he finished, but he didn’t leave. Instead he grabbed a book and settled into a chair beside the fireplace.

“How are you feeling?” he said, breaking the tension-filled space.

“Fine,” she said shortly. She could feel her pulse speed up and the hair on the back of her neck rose.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“A scarf for Reverend Nash.”

Curiously, he said, “Why all black?”

Jessica bit her lip. “He’s still in mourning for his wife.”

Thankfully, after that small interchange, he opened his book. The rest of the evening was spent in awkward silence. But at least, she was able to finish the scarf. And she was the one of them to exit the parlor first. She said nothing at all. She simply got up and left.

That night, while lying in bed, Jessica couldn’t stop thinking about the cabins. More specifically she couldn’t stop thinking about Jon’s claim that he had nothing to do with the interior repairs. There had been an element of sarcasm in his tone, she was sure of it. But why? Why, if he was responsible, would he deny it?

Jon’s actions toward her were so tender, so very caring. He could be so very endearing and funny. There was a part of her that wanted to go back to the warm relationship they’d shared. She wanted to feel his arms around her again, experience his passionate kisses and all the bliss that accompanied them. At the same time, she couldn’t condone his treatment of the servants. She couldn’t forget that he joined the awful Klan. And she could never forget what Trent had disclosed about him. Even if Jon were to see the error of his ways, even if he were to change his behavior toward the servants, even if he were to stay away from the Klan, there would still be no chance of reconciliation between them. Her husband had killed!

She was still lying there thinking when she heard his uneven footfalls come up the stairs. After she went to bed, he went out, of course. And now, he was drunk. Again! She listened as he made his way down the hall toward his room. She heard his bedroom door close and she heard him stumble around.

Abruptly she sat up in bed. He was at the connecting door. The latch jiggled. It was locked. There was no way he could get in, unless of course, he had a key. He owned the house, so undoubtedly he possessed one!

But if he did have the key, he didn’t use it. She heard the thump as he fell into the door and the slither as he slid down it. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the door. But at least he wasn’t calling out to her. At least he was being very quiet.

How long he stayed there, Jessica didn’t know, because she fell asleep listening for his next move.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, and Jessica’s father and brother were expected. Anticipating their visit, Jessica was able to find a smile. That smile faded as soon as she came downstairs. Jon was waiting for her. Smiling, he said softly, “Merry Christmas.”

After breakfast, Jessica went to the parlor to play the piano. More specifically, hoping to evoke her holiday spirit, she played Christmas carols. The last couple of weeks she’d been teaching them to the children. As she started in on ‘Away in a Manger’ she thought of Chelsea chirping, “Dat song is wong, Miss Jesska. I haf a cwib.” The memory made her laugh.

When she looked up and saw her husband standing in the doorway she immediately removed her hands from the keys. Playing for Jon no longer contained any pleasure. If anything, the very idea of doing so left her feeling exactly the opposite. She was determined never to play for him again. The moment their eyes met, he turned away. She heard him cross the foyer, enter his study and quietly close the door behind him.

Her father and brother arrived in a jumble of snow flurries, coats, gloves, hats and bundles of gifts. Jessica greeted them warmly with hugs and kisses. She was glad for her father’s barrel voice. He had a way of making everything jolly. Trent, she noticed, for once, was smiling, too. She helped them put the gifts they brought under Jon’s pretty tree along with the others she gathered earlier.

They’d been visiting together in the parlor for a while, when her father asked curiously, “Where’s Jon?”

Jessica had been enjoying herself. She’d momentarily set aside any thoughts of the Klan and of her husband, but she knew Jon would have to join them eventually. She told her father she would get him, and assuming he was still in his study—she hadn’t heard him leave—she went and knocked lightly. There was no response, so she opened the door. Oddly, the room was empty. Back in the parlor, she shrugged and said, “I’m not sure where he is.”

“Where’s that Ditter fellow?” her father asked. “He should know.”

Jessica hadn’t seen Ditter yet that morning either, which was strange, too. In the kitchen she found Ruth and Martha busily preparing Christmas dinner. She asked them if they knew where her husband was.