Concealing Grace (The Grace Series Book 1) (23 page)

From then on, Luther entertained them with story after story of Jessica’s youthful antics. He told some that involved Trent, too, but Trent didn’t mind so much. Some of the things they did as children were quite funny, especially when the tales were told from their father’s perspective. Soon enough they were all laughing. Pop, Jessie and he were laughing at any rate. Kinsley was gazing at his sister as if she were the most precious being he ever laid eyes upon.

He’d better gaze, Trent thought. Jessie
was
precious! If that arrogant man ever did anything to hurt his little sister, one arm or not, Trent would beat the bastard to within an inch of his life!

The same two colored women Trent remembered seeing before came in to clear away the dinner plates and bring in the last course. From the four dessert plates the older, heavier-set woman carried, it looked like they were each about to receive a generous slice of apple pie. Stuffed he may be, but finding room for that kind of treat wasn’t a problem for Trent.

“Get on with it!” Jon’s harsh bark was so sudden, it startled not just Trent but Jessie, too.

The older woman, the one with the pie, began serving. At first Trent thought she was deliberately stalling, but then he wasn’t sure. After she set each plate, she stepped back and stared at it as if she needed to make sure the placement was correct. Eventually, she set the last one in front of Kinsley. The expression on Kinsley’s face, as he regarded her, reminded Trent of a coiled snake about to strike. The man looked furious.

The two colored servants headed toward the side door they entered through. Before they closed it behind them, Kinsley growled, “I have more trouble with that girl!”

“Jon, she didn’t do anything wrong,” Jessie said quietly.

“She’s too slow. I have never had such poor service in all of my life, and it’s not fair our guests should have to put up with it,” Kinsley complained. “If I could, I would sell her off.”

“I didn’t think she was too slow.” Jessie looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Trust me, Sweetheart. She’s slow,” Kinsley reiterated.

This time Jessie said nothing.

The Jessie Trent knew was no subdued mouse, not like this. When she felt strongly about something, she was full of fire. This humbleness in his sister didn’t suit Trent at all. He took a bite of his pie. Trying to sound lighthearted, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t sell her. This is damn fine pie.”

Jessica smiled at him, but it was half-hearted at best. Something was wrong here, and Trent didn’t like it one bit. He went on, “What I want to know, Jessie, is with all these servants doing the work around here, what do you do to keep yourself busy?”

Jessie looked up and there it was—the fire! Her eyes were brimming with it! And, ha! All that obstinate flame was directed at the stuck-up captain. Those flaring eyes remained on Kinsley, even though she was responding to Trent’s question. Her voice, when she spoke, was deceptively sweet, too. Go figure, Trent mused, his sister was deliberately goading her husband! “I make lesson plans,” she said.

The next thing Trent knew, Captain Conceit was silently begging his sister to shut up. The slight shake of his head combined with the tight line of his mouth was a dead giveaway. “Lesson plans?” Trent asked curiously. “Lesson plans for what?”

One of Jessie’s eyebrows rose. Trent knew that haughty expression well. “Oh, dear me,” she said, feigning contriteness. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I guess I’ve let the cat out of the bag. I am teaching school. I’m teaching the servants’ children how to read and write and do figures.”

“What?” Luther exclaimed. “Good God! Jon, you’re allowing this?”

Now Kinsley’s expression was one of utter boredom, but before Kinsley could answer, Jessie said, “It’s a good idea. Tell them, Jon.”

Again Kinsley didn’t get a chance to speak. Luther barged in, “Jessica, colored folk are no better than animals. You can’t treat them like white men. They shouldn’t learn to read!”

“Papa, that’s not true! Jon, tell him it’s not true.”

Casually, still appearing decidedly bored, Kinsley said, “Correction. It’s not that niggers shouldn’t learn. It’s that they can’t. They’re too stupid. Don’t worry about it, Luther. If Jessica wants to waste her time attempting to train monkeys, then so be it. If it amuses her, I’ll not stop her. There’s no question in my mind, however, she will not succeed.”

“Trent, tell them they’re wrong,” Jessica’s voice rose. “You know they’re wrong because Sammy learned to read. Don’t you remember? You taught him yourself! He was your friend. Your best friend!”

“Sammy?” Just hearing the name churned up memories in Trent he buried long ago. He was so flustered he didn’t know how to respond. “He was a slave boy. He worked on our farm. He wasn’t my friend.”

“Oh! How can you say that?” Jessica cried.

“Jess, there’s no reason to get upset about this,” Kinsley said.

“You’re right.” Jessica was no longer yelling. She set her napkin on the table by her plate and in that same sickly sweet voice said, “If you will excuse me, I have worthless lessons to plan. Trent, Papa, thank you for coming. I’m sure Jon will entertain you adequately for the remainder of your visit.”

Kinsley winced when the dining room door slammed behind her. He pushed his chair back and said, “I didn’t mean to upset her. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Let her be, Jon,” Luther said. “I know my girl. She’ll stew for a while, but she’ll get over it. There’s something Trent and I would like to discuss with you, and I don’t want Jessie here while we do. In fact, it would be best for Jessica not to know anything about what I’m going to tell you.”

“I understand.” Kinsley pulled his chair up again, but not before glancing once more toward the door.

“You haven’t seen Jessie’s temper yet, have you?” Trent couldn’t help it. He couldn’t contain his chuckle either. His laughter didn’t fade until he caught his father’s glower.

“Jessie will be fine,” Luther said reassuringly. “She knows we’re right. She just doesn’t want to admit it, but she’ll come around, you’ll see.”

“I hope so,” Kinsley said. “What is it you want to talk to me about? Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Luther said. “Now that you’re family, it doesn’t feel right keeping this from you any longer. There’s no point beating around the bush either, so I will come right out and say it. Last week, when I was here with Whistler, we spoke about the Sovereign Sons of the South. I explained the importance of members’ identities remaining secret.”

“Yes, I remember,” Kinsley said.

“Now, I’m here to tell you that Trent and I are both members. Arnold Whistler and William Hughes have given me permission to disclose their involvement to you, as well. I have recommended you to the elders, and collectively, the four of us, would like to invite you to apply for membership.”

Kinsley grinned. “You’ve just made my day, Luther! First, let me just say, as your son-in-law, I couldn’t be more honored to have your recommendation. Second, as you know from our discussion last week, I am highly interested in joining. I believe, from everything you’ve told me about this organization, it is the best thing we, as citizens, can do for our community. And lastly, due to my military background, I know I will be a constructive and valuable asset.”

“I couldn’t agree more!” Luther was obviously thrilled, but this little speech of Kinsley’s only confirmed to Trent that the man was a self-important idiot. Pop was just as foolish for being so awestruck by him.

“You say there’s an application? What will I need to do?” Kinsley asked.

This was one question Trent was happy to step in and answer. “It’s more of an induction than an application. A date will be set for you to go before the elders to be questioned. Afterwards you’ll be hazed. The hazing can be rather… um… rigorous—”

Luther cut in, “I have no concerns, Jon, you will be invited to join. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Pop was glaring at him again, but Trent went on anyway, “If you are accepted as a probationary member, there will be one final test you must pass. You will be asked to lead a raid. In that capacity it will be your job to carry out justice as ordered by your superior.” Trent paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Kinsley smiled smugly. “Yes, I believe I do. And I look forward to it.”

“Wonderful!” Luther exclaimed. “What say we head to the tavern to celebrate? We haven’t been out for quite a while. And Jon, you’ll be better off staying away for a couple hours. Give Jessie’s temper some time to cool down.”

“Excellent idea,” Kinsley chortled. “Whiskey sounds good to me!”

Trent decided then and there he’d been right all along about Kinsley. The man was entirely too slimy. He only wished his sister had listened to him and not married the ass. And his father was a damned blind fool! Sadly, there was nothing Trent could do about that. There was, however, something in the near future for him to look forward to.

Hazing Kinsley at his induction to the Sons would be most enjoyable indeed!

* * *

Sebastian Nash was taking his normal evening walk. He was on his way back, about a quarter mile from the parsonage, when he heard them. There were at least a dozen horses galloping up behind him. He stopped and watched their approach, thinking, as he did every time he saw them, how ridiculous they looked in their obnoxious sheets. Even though it was earlier than the hour they usually rode out to inflict their terror, instinctively he knew their intent in being on this particular road, at this time of night, was not friendly. He wasn’t surprised when they slowed their horses and maneuvered into circular barrier around him.

“Good evening,” he said coolly. “What can I do for you?”

“We don’t like nigger lovin’ Yankees! Keep the niggers out of church,” one of them yelled.

Before Sebastian had a chance to respond, something hard, perhaps a rock, pelted him between the shoulder blades. He turned and ducked under the next one. The hardened mud ball grazed the back of the hand he used to protect his head. A thick club slammed into his shoulder and he whirled around, grabbing the bridle of the horse ridden by the man who laid it. The club came at him a second time. Sebastian caught it and yanked it roughly out the costumed man’s hand. A horse crop began to sting him. He dropped the club and twisted to snatch the whip.

Thus far, Sebastian hadn’t uttered a sound, but when a second club connected across the side of his head, he couldn’t withhold his grunt. The blow spun him. It was followed by another to his shoulder. A third cracked across the back of his head, stunning him, and he staggered trying to maintain his balance. As outnumbered as he was, there wasn’t much more he could do to defend himself. “If you want to fight with me, get off your horses and fight like real men!” he roared.

Blows rained down repeatedly until Sebastian could no longer stand. He fell to his hands and knees in the dirt. Only then, when it appeared he no longer had the ability to fight back, did four of them dismount and surround him. One of them kicked him in the side. Gasping, he rolled. Reaching out blindly, he caught an ankle and twisted until the man hollered and toppled. This brought another onslaught from their clubs. To protect himself, Sebastian curled. The strikes from their boots and sticks continued. The next thing he knew, one of them seized a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back.

“How do you like it, Reverend?” the man sneered. “This is for Edward and Abe.”

A burlap sack was pulled roughly over his head. With a loud, adrenalin induced growl, Sebastian picked himself up off the ground, taking the man on top of him with him. Coming to their comrade’s assistance, several others—Sebastian couldn’t tell how many—jumped on him, shoving him back down. His strength was great, but he couldn’t hold up against their numbers. The burlap sack was dragged the rest of the way over his face and secured by the rope they wound around his neck. They tied the end off to a saddle and dragged him. His clothes tore. One of his shoes fell off, but the scraping of his body through the rough, pebbly dirt wasn’t what hurt him the most. He was digging his fingers into the ropes constricting his throat, but his efforts did little good. Unable to breathe, Sebastian felt himself losing consciousness.

And then everything stopped. Sebastian rolled in the dirt, grabbing frantically at the rope. Consumed solely with his need for air, he barely heard one of them say, “Reverend, get your ass in line or this meeting will not be the only one we have!”

He was still gulping madly, working frenetically to unwind the rope and rip the sack off his head, as their horses raced away. For a long time thereafter, he remained lying in the road, taking sweet, deep breaths, letting his body adjust to the battering it had undergone. But he couldn’t stay there forever.

“Shit,” he muttered as he gingerly sat up. Blood dripped into his eye from a gash in his eyebrow. Painfully, growling, he pushed himself to his knees. It took several deep breaths, and another round of growls to get to his feet. Oddly enough, they’d left him right in front of the parsonage.

The Klan was long gone, but Sebastian stayed in the middle of the road, staring after them. Under his breath, he raged, “I’ll be damned if a bunch of clowns can get rid of me!”

* * *

It was well past midnight when Jessica finally heard Jon’s footfalls coming up the stairs. By then her eyes were well adjusted to the dark. From where she lay in her bed, she could see everything in the room clearly. She listened to him go down the hallway toward his room, and hastily rolled to her side with her back toward the connecting door. Shortly thereafter, as she knew he would, he came through it.