Healing Grace (23 page)

Afterwards, as always, the colonel wrapped the boy up and held on. He held on so tightly, the boy could feel the colonel’s heartbeat in his own body.

“I don’t want this night to end,” the colonel whispered.

“Don’t be sad, Colonel. Everything will be okay,” the boy told him.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about. About tomorrow,” the colonel murmured. “I have to go home.”

“I know,” the boy said.

The colonel was silent for a long time, and then he shimmied up onto an elbow. The lines of worry on his face made the boy’s heart ache. He reached up and pressed his hand to the colonel’s cheek.

“I know things will be different, but it will be okay,” he told the colonel. “Don’t be sad.”

The colonel grabbed the boy’s hand and drew it away. “You can’t come with me,” he said.

The boy’s smile disappeared, and his heart began to race. “But, you said… I thought…”

“I have a wife. I have children,” the colonel said.

“Yes, I know. I will live with you. I will live with your wife and children.”

“No, love, you can’t.”

“But…” The pain in the boy’s chest was physical and sharp.

“I don’t have a choice,” the colonel said. “But listen, love—”

“You said we’d always be together,” the boy interrupted. “You said you would never let me go. You said—”

“I know I said those things. I shouldn’t have said them. Listen to me, love—”

“Please, please, colonel,” the boy pleaded. “I’ll help with chores. I’ll help with the farming. I’ll take care of the house. I’ll make sure your family likes me.”

“No,” the colonel whispered.

The boy made every concession he could think of, offering to stay in the colonel’s barn, offering to give up Toby Two. He told the colonel how well versed he was with farming and again reassured he would cause no problems. Nothing worked. The colonel just said no. Tears pooled in the boy’s eyes and he couldn’t stop them.

“Please don’t cry,” the colonel said. “Listen to me—”

“You don’t love your wife,” the boy said.

“I do love my wife,” the colonel said.

“But you can’t love her the way you love me.”

The colonel didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to go home,” the boy cried.

“No, don’t ever go back there,” the colonel said sternly. “You stay away from that man. You stay far away from him.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” the boy said.

“Yes, you do. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m giving you money. I want you to take it and go to the city. You’re smart and witty, and you’re handsome. It will be easy for you to find work. Editors and printers will be lucky to have someone like you in their shops. You can rent a room for you and Toby Two. You’ll make lots of new friends.”

“I don’t want new friends!”

“Hush, love, and listen to me. You go to the city, and then you write to me and tell me where you are. If you need anything, anything at all, write to me and I will help you. We can’t be together, but I will always be here for you.”

“No, no, no!” the boy wailed.

“Love, stop it. Stop it, please. This is hard enough,” the colonel said.

“Then… don’t… leave… me!”

The colonel smiled, caressed the boy’s face, and wiped away his tears. “Soon enough you’ll save up enough money to buy a nice house, and you’ll find a pretty girl to marry. You’ll have a wonderful life. And after a while, you’ll see, you’ll forget all about me.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll never forget you.” The boy sniffled and sniffled. Hiccoughs overcame him, but he couldn’t stop sobbing. “I don’t want a pretty girl. Why can’t I come with you? Why? Why?”

“Please be strong, love. Be strong for me.” The colonel gathered the boy into his arms, held him and rocked him, and he said, “I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean to me. Being here with you, even with this insane war going on, has been the only time in my life I’ve felt whole. You’re the only person in the world who really knows me. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, love. But this is not fair to you. It may not feel like it right now, but soon enough you’ll see. You’re not like me. I have to let you go.”

Eventually the boy slept. When he woke in the morning, he was alone. Toby Two was perched on the window sill, one of his favorite lounging places. The pouch of money the colonel had promised to leave was on the table next to the bed.

The boy’s eyes filled. With his face buried in the pillow, he curled himself into a ball and rocked, but rocking without the colonel’s arms around him did no good. He wanted to die.

Toby Two jumped onto the bed and as he reached out to pet him, the boy remembered what the colonel had said. He would go to the city, find a room to rent and he would write to the colonel. When the colonel came to see him, he would convince the colonel to stay. That hope was enough to spur him out of bed.

The boy got dressed. In the mirror he saw how red and swollen his eyes were. He splashed water on them and washed his face, but it didn’t help much. Through the farmhouse window he noticed the field where rows of tents had been set up. They were almost all taken down. Only four out of what had been hundreds remained. A dozen or so men were standing in the yard, talking. The boy’s heart began to thud. The colonel was with them.

There was a small square piece of parchment on the dresser. The boy scooped it up and shoved it into his trouser pocket, and then he raced down the stairs.

The colonel must have heard him coming, because he glanced over his shoulder. Without a word, without even a smile of acknowledgment, he returned his attention to the men. But this wasn’t unusual and the boy understood. This was how the colonel had to act around the men. The colonel’s horse was saddled and ready, the satchel with his belongings already secured.

The boy stood by, waiting as patiently as he could for the colonel to finish with his men. It seemed to take forever, but finally they were shaking hands in farewell. The colonel took the reins of his horse from the soldier holding them, and nodded briefly to the boy. “So long, kid. Safe travels. Don’t forget your cat.”

The colonel put his foot in the stirrup. The boy had expected the colonel to go back in the house, where they could have a moment of privacy and say goodbye properly, but the colonel didn’t do that.

Something snapped inside the boy. There was no sound, but he felt it—the burn in his chest, searing him from the inside. He forgot the rules he was supposed to follow when the troops were near. He forgot the troops were even there. He forgot everything except the colonel.

“Don’t go! Please! Please, Colonel! Don’t leave!” He grabbed onto the colonel before he could mount, and buried his face in the colonel’s chest. “Please, Colonel, please. I love you! I love you! Don’t you love me? Don’t you…?”

For a split second, the boy thought the colonel was returning his embrace, but then something clamped hard on his shoulders and shoved him backwards with such force he almost fell.

“Goddamned, faggot! Get your hands off me!” the colonel yelled.

The boy didn’t recognize the colonel’s voice at all. Never had the colonel yelled like this—not at the troops, not when he was venting anger, not at anyone—ever!

“You damn queer!” the colonel roared. “Thank god I don’t have to share my quarters with you any longer. All these years I’ve put up with you sneaking peeks at me in the bath. You make me sick. I’m glad to finally be rid of you. I’m glad to be going home to my wife!”

The boy couldn’t breathe. The men were laughing. He heard them and knew they were there, but he didn’t see them. All he could see was the colonel’s rage.

“Get the hell out of here, faggot!” the colonel yelled.

The boy spun and ran. He didn’t know what direction he went. He didn’t think about the money pouch still sitting on the end table. He didn’t think about his clothes, his books, his notebook, or even Toby Two. The only thing he thought about was the wonderful, tender colonel, his best friend, the only person in the world who cared about him.

Blindly the boy raced onward. He kept going until his legs gave out, until he could no longer breathe. He fell, sprawling. He had no idea where he was, except that he was in a forest. Leaves, twigs and rocks stabbed and cut him, but he was barely aware of it.

All this time he’d been wrong! What the colonel felt for him wasn’t love! The colonel had merely tolerated him because he’d had no choice. The colonel didn’t care about him at all, and he never had.

“How are you feeling?” Nathanial Stonington asked as the coach rumbled to a stop. Although he didn’t look out the window, he could hear numerous voices talking, horses whinnying. The driver bellowed something about parking, but he wasn’t listening. Instead his focus was on his companion.

“I’m alright,” David Houser said. “Just tired.”

They didn’t alight until the driver opened the door. Nathanial stepped out first and took David’s arm to help him. Concern marred his brow as David swayed on his feet, but it was no wonder. The last time David had eaten anything of substance had been at least three days prior. His waning appetite was further proof the doctors were accurate. The illness—a blood disorder was what the physicians had called it—was turning David to little more than skin and bone.

Nathanial hadn’t wanted David to attend the races with him, but when David asked, Nathanial hadn’t been able to say no. How could he not grant the request of a longtime loyal friend—a loyal friend who, within a few weeks, would be dead? So here they were. The next step was to find a place to sit where they’d have a decent view of the upcoming events.

The ringed track had several stands for spectators, some on the south side and others opposite. From what Nathanial could see, the benches were already beginning to fill. Other folks had set up chairs or laid out blankets on the nearby grounds. Plenty of constables lined the area, though they weren’t the only law enforcement. Nathanial also noticed several men in military dress. He understood why. At events like these, emotions often ran high, especially for those who placed bets.

He steered David past a handful of food vendors and on into the arena. From there, they bypassed several smaller sets of bleachers and continued on toward the larger, more coveted center section. The distance was considerable, and Nathanial knew such a long walk had to be taxing for his companion. David, however, didn’t complain, and he wouldn’t. He knew Nathanial’s purpose in coming wasn’t solely to watch the races.

Regardless, Nathanial was thankful when they reached the section perpendicular to the finish line. He was also thankful to see plenty of seating still available. Looking up into the stands, he noticed more uniformed men, like sporadic navy blue dots, randomly scattered. He also noticed that past the first half dozen or so rows, an area had been roped off—reserved places for a party of significance. So that David wouldn’t have to climb steps, they picked a spot in the front row, near the aisle.

Once David was settled, under the pretense of getting something to drink, and perhaps a treat or two from one of the vendors, Nathanial left him. As he slowly meandered through the crowds, he caught the eye of several men he knew. They didn’t recognize him in return, but they wouldn’t. Ten years ago, when in the company of his former comrades, Nathanial had kept himself covered by robe and hood. He’d done it to ensure no one would ever recognize him. But some men would. Edward Murphy would, and so would Harry Simpson. As of yet, however, Nathanial hadn’t spotted either of them.

Just as he wondered how long it would be before one of them showed, someone looked at him then immediately turned to the man next to him to whisper something. Nathanial supposed he might not need Edward Murphy or Harry Simpson after all.

It had begun.

Nathanial was in the process of buying a small bucket of strawberries when he was approached for the first time.

“Pardon me,” the man said, “but I was wondering if you go by the name Stone?”

“I’ve been known to.” Nathanial smiled and held out his hand. “It’s good to see you, Anderson.”

“Holy shit!” Anderson blurted. At the same time he gestured wildly for his companions to come closer. Turning back to Nathanial, he said, “I can’t believe it’s really you! Where have you been all these years?”

Similar exchanges were made with the rest of them. Nathanial did his duty by asking about other former Klansmen, those he hadn’t yet spotted. In turn, Nathanial’s former subordinates wanted to know where he was sitting, and whether they could join him.

Soon the bleachers in front of the roped area were filled with wives, children and other relatives of former Klansmen, though the bulk of the men were standing in front bantering, Nathanial among them. He was caught up as more and more of his former subordinates sought him out. He told them he and David would be staying at the inn in town for the next week or so, and then encouraged them to call upon him.

Checking his watch, he noted only thirty minutes remained before the first race was to begin. When he looked up, absently tucking the watch into his vest pocket, he saw a blond man approaching. Because of the heads blocking his view, at first Nathanial didn’t see the man’s face, but he didn’t need to see to know who it was. One of the others slapped the blond man on the shoulder and chortled, “Where’s the schoolteacher, Simpson?”

Another man teased, “Yeah, Simpson’s got himself a lady friend now.”

“Good lookin’ filly,” said another.

“But she’s too tall for the likes o’ you, Harry,” someone chortled. “Have ya asked her ta marry you, yet?”

“Thought you said she was comin’ with ya?” asked another.

“Constance is under the weather. She couldn’t come,” Harry said. “I heard Stone’s here. Is this true?”

“He’s right over there,” someone gestured. “Houser’s here, too.”

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the men separated and Harry came fully into Nathanial’s view. But Harry didn’t move any closer. He merely inclined his head and said, “Stone.”

“Simpson,” Nathanial nodded. “Nice to see you.”

Any more of an exchange was prevented by the man striding up behind Harry. Nathanial knew Edward Murphy would eventually show up. What he didn’t expect was to see Murphy sporting two black eyes and a fat lip.

“Been brawlin’, Murph?” someone razzed.

“Geez, Murphy, looks like you lost.”

“That no good, holier-than-thou thon of mine came after me,” Murphy said. “But I kicked the thit outta him.” Then he stuck his nose in Harry’s face and growled, “What’re you doin’ here, Thimpthon, you little puth?” Without waiting for a reply he marched past Harry, through the walls of men, to pump Nathanial’s hand. “Thtone. Glad to thee you.”

“Glad to thee…see you, too.” Nathanial forced a smile. “I hope you’re doing well.”

“Ath well as can be exthpected, conthidering all the trouble my thildren put me through. My oldetht thinkth he’th better than me, and my youngetht, Artthie up and run away. Been lookin’ fer ’im everywhere, but ain’t had no luck findin’ ’im yet. I figure he’th here thomewhere. What boy doethn’t like the ratheth? I’d be much obliged if any of you gentlemen thpot him, you let me know.”

“Happy to help, Murph,” someone said.

“Sorry about your boys,” Nathanial told him. “That’s too bad.”

By then Harry had stepped over to greet David. Nathanial overheard Harry ask, “Would you mind if I join you?”

Nathanial would have preferred David say no, but David didn’t say no. In the end, it wasn’t so bad. With all the men vying for his attention, Nathanial was jostled to a different bench. From there, unless he leaned forward and stuck his neck out, he couldn’t see either David or Harry.

And it worked out for the better. His new spot allowed him a better view of a cluster of five children and six adults shuffling into the arena. The two adults leading the group were colored. The man was exceedingly dark skinned, and so big and brawny, his appearance alone gave off the signal, “Don’t mess with me or mine.”

The colored woman’s role was obviously as nanny. She carried the youngest child, a white infant adorned in pink and lace. No other colored folk had dared to come near this section of the stands, and as expected, this set off grumblings amongst the former Klansmen.

“It figures Emerson would bring his darkies along. The pig,” the man to Nathanial’s right muttered, gesturing toward the white adults taking up the rear of the party.

Similar sentiments were expressed by others, all of which were spoken in low tones. Hushed murmurs were also the way a few defending comments were conveyed.

Nathanial overheard one man say, “He’s got money. He can afford ’em.”

Another murmured, “Good business man, though. We need him here. We need his horses.”

Nathanial merely sneered, and then held the disgusted expression as he focused on the other white man in the group.

“That’s not... it can’t be… he wouldn’t dare show his face here…” The man to Nathanial’s left was slack-jawed.

“That’s Jon Kinsley! Goddamn!” another fumed.

Nine years had passed since the men had seen their worst nemesis, so the slow-to-come recognition was understandable. Nathanial, however, didn’t have the same problem. “If you’ll recall, friends, his real name is Grace… Major Julien Grace,” he murmured, then added, “The son of a bitch.”

“Look at Kinsley! What is he? An idiot?” someone guffawed.

“Holy shit!” burped another.

“Jon Kinsley! No! What’s he doing here?”

“He ain’t Kinthley. Hith real name ith Julien Grathe.” Edward Murphy, who was quite a distance from Nathanial, spoke so loudly not only did Nathanial hear. So did Julien Grace.

Julien looked over, his eyes fixating briefly on each man, including Nathanial, before he turned and whispered something to the copper-haired beauty on his arm.

The next thing Nathanial and his companions knew, the darkies started up the steps into the stands. The entire group—Trent Emerson, Julien Grace, their wives, children and darkies—took seats in the roped-off area, directly behind the rows of former Klansmen.

Nathanial had to hand it to Julien Grace and his entourage. For the next hour, while the first stints of the races were underway, they had to have heard the numerous derogatory comments being made about them. And Trent and Julien were not the only ones being crudely mocked. The former Klansmen took equal potshots at wives and children, and of course, the darkies.

Violence, however, didn’t erupt. Undoubtedly this was due to the exaggerated presence of law enforcement. But constables and military figures wouldn’t deter Nathanial. As he knew they would, his men followed his gestured command to remain seated while the Emersons and Graces descended the steps. They were taking the opportunity to stretch their legs during the intermission.

Julien Grace brought up the rear of the group, and because he had to go back to retrieve his daughter’s bonnet, there was a gap between him and the rest of his family. As soon as Julien reached the grass, Nathanial moved, stepping forward to block his path.

“You’re not welcome here,
spook
. Get out of this town.” To his men behind him, who had also risen but remained in the bleachers, he ordered, “Keep Emerson back. Grace is the one I’ve come for.”

That was all it took for several of them to take a stand, preventing Trent from coming to his brother-in-law’s rescue.

“You and your
boys
have had a field day already at my family’s expense,” Julien said condescendingly. “What more do you want?”

“I want blood!” Nathanial retorted and he lunged, slamming a well-aimed shoulder into Julien’s diaphragm.

The hit was enough to send Julien sprawling on the lawn. Nathanial, however, wasn’t done. Julien Grace was the man who had almost single-handedly destroyed the Klan Nathanial had meticulously assembled. Julien was the same fiend who, by his testimony, had sent six of Nathanial’s most dedicated men to prison. David had spent most of his adult life behind bars and now… now he was dying.

Ignoring the screams and cries of women, Nathanial dropped down and clamped one hand around his worst enemy’s throat. His other fist was coiled, arm back and ready to swing, when he was grabbed from behind and dragged off.

Nathanial flailed against the four officials who held him, to no avail. He couldn’t break free. All he could do was watch Julien get to his feet and brush off. Trent had somehow evaded the rest of the Klansmen and rushed over. So did Julien’s wife. Despite Julien’s reassuring, “I’m fine,” his wife turned on Nathanial and glared with such vehemence, he almost flinched. Emily Emerson was not far away with the children and darkies, and she too, was glowering.

The officers pushed Nathanial, forcing him to move toward the exit. The only option left was to call out, “You’ll pay, Grace. I’m coming for you!”

By then, most of Nathanial’s men were huddled together in front of the stands. David was the only one of them still seated. Beside him stood Harry, brows drawn anxiously, but Nathanial couldn’t worry about Harry. Not now. To his men, he murmured, “Come see me at the Mount Joy Inn. I’ll be waiting for you.”