Healing Grace (27 page)

“Will you be alright while I’m gone?” Nathanial asked David.

Since the races, David’s health had deteriorated significantly. Now his sallow skin was marred by pale bruises. Nathanial had initially noticed them on Tuesday, one on David’s jaw, a second on his hand. Wednesday more came to light. It seemed the slightest brush against his skin was all it took to cause them. The doctor that came daily said it wasn’t uncommon with the blood disorder David had. This morning, Friday, the entire left side of his face was blotched. These marks had come from the pillow he’d slept on.

“I’ll be fine,” David breathed. It was almost noon, but he hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Nathanial grabbed his hat from the rack by the door, tucked it under his arm and said, “Is there anything I can bring you? Anything you’d like? Peppermint sticks, maybe?” He was procrastinating. Leaving David alone was creating a knot the size of a grapefruit in his chest. The guilt over keeping David at the inn, rather than letting him live out his few remaining days at home, where he would be most comfortable, only made the knot worse.

“Peppermint, sure,” David murmured. “Go on, do what you have to do. It’s important.”

That was true. “I won’t be long,” Nathanial said, then yanked open the door. His startle was almost as bad as the man standing in the hallway, arm poised to knock.

Of all the people who had come calling throughout the week, and plenty had, Harry Simpson hadn’t been one of them.

“Oh. Sorry, Ker…
uh
… Stone.” Harry Simpson lowered his arm. “I’ve come to…to visit David.”

“Come in, Harry.” Nathanial forced a smile. “Your timing couldn’t be better. I’m on my way out.” Thinking quickly, he added, “Could you stay for a while? For David? I should be back in an hour or so. Two at most.”

“I can stay,” Harry said.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Turning to David, though he knew David could see well enough on his own—the room wasn’t that big—Nathanial said, “Harry’s here. He’ll keep you company while I’m gone.”

With that, Nathanial left, closing the door quietly behind him. For a moment he stood there, fingering the revolver in the holster hidden beneath his coat, listening to the muffled voices within. But he didn’t have time to dally. In seconds he was down the stairs and through the lobby. His next stop was the livery, which wasn’t far, just a block or two. Along the way he returned several waves, uttered a few “good days,” and responded to one couple, “David’s doing as well as can be expected.” A man driving a wagon hollered, “Stone! Good to see you, sir!”

“Same to you, Tim,” Nathanial hailed in reply.

The mount the livery attendant brought was a decent-sized brute, and that was good. If he needed to move quickly, or outdistance anyone, Nathanial would be able to.

More greetings were bellowed his direction as he rode through town, and although he responded, he didn’t stop or slow. The country roads were empty, with no distractions, and this was better. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t being followed, especially since he’d become so popular of late. Any one of his loyal fans could be after him, simply to gain an audience. It was imperative, however, that no one know his true destination today, so he turned west. This wasn’t the most direct route, but the precaution was necessary. He sped up too, kicking in his heels until the horse was at a full gallop.

He was still moving at a good clip when he turned north. Another long stretch and he turned east again. The less traveled road he’d chosen took him past Luther Emerson’s farm.

The house appeared as it always had. Even the bench on the front porch with its flanking flower pots was the same as Nathanial remembered. The begonias were blooming, there was nary a weed in the front garden and the grass had been clipped. From all outward appearances, one might believe someone still inhabited the place. Nathanial knew better.

From there, he got lucky. It was true these roads weren’t well traveled, but never had he been on them without being passed a time or two. Today was an exception. Not one person was out and about, at least not north of Mount Joy. Even so, he was glad when the entrance to Grace Manor came into view.

Like the road, the immense yard appeared deserted. Nathanial was no longer galloping, but he kept the horse moving. He didn’t stop until he was in front of the stately porch. Only then did he dismount. Habit, more than need, caused him to reach under his coat, to check the hidden holster and the weapon it contained.

“Would ya like me ta see ta yer horse, suh?”

Nathanial spun at the voice, realizing as he did how jumpy he was. A colored lad was peeking out from around the horse’s head. How Nathanial hadn’t seen him, or heard him approach, he didn’t know.

“I won’t be long. I’d like to keep her here,” he told the colored boy.

“Yes, suh. I’ll keep ’er at dis post.”

Nathanial nodded and started up the steps. Before raising his hand to work the knocker, he took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He let the hammer fall three times then moved back to wait for the door to be opened.

A colored fellow, this one older, dressed in coat sleeves, answered. He didn’t ask Nathanial’s name, or who he’d come to see. Instead he said simply, “Come in, suh.”

Nathanial stepped over the threshold, murmuring under his breath, “That was easy.”

“Please wait here in the foyer, suh,” the darkie said and then marched off, polished heels clicking across the shiny hardwood.

Unlike Luther Emerson’s home, Nathanial had only been in this house once, but he remembered it. Little had changed. The grand, curved staircase was directly ahead. Above, an elaborate chandelier reflected sunlight coming through the upper floor windows. The double doors to the left were closed but he knew beyond them was the parlor. The set to the right hid the dining room, which was large enough to comfortably handle dinner service for two dozen, if not more.

The clicking heels announced the return of the doorman, and this time he wasn’t alone. Two men and two women followed. Nathanial didn’t need an introduction—Emily and Trent Emerson, Jessica and Julien Grace. In Julien’s arms was a little girl adorned in frilly pale peach. A matching ribbon held back a mess of blond curls. If Nathanial’s memory served, the child’s name was Lauren.

Hustling in behind Julien was the colored girl who had been at the races. “I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. “I’ll take her now.”

“Not to worry, Lucy.” Julien smiled and set the child on her feet. “But please make sure they all keep to the yard or the morning room until we’re finished here.”

“Yes, sir,” the colored woman said.

She reached out to take Lauren’s hand, but was too late. The child twirled and skittered between skirts and trousers. Her mother made a move to grab her, but missed.

“Lauren,” Jessica warned.

“Princess, stop!” Julien echoed, though his mouth quirked with amusement.

The child kept on, making a beeline for the front door. Her parents, uncle and aunt didn’t see. Perhaps the only person other than Nathanial who did was the doorman. The little girl’s expression was sheer determination. Her brow was drawn, her lips pinched. Even though she was just a mite, no more than three or four years old, Nathanial had the urge to sidestep lest she barrel right over him.

“Lauren!” Jessica called again, to no avail.

The baby came to Nathanial, not stopping until she was inches away, and she didn’t really stop then, either. Her button nose turned up to him, and at the same moment her little foot swung.

Nathanial took a direct hit in the anklebone.

Of course the tiny girl was too small to have done any damage, but he was thankful he wore his leather riding boots. Without, the kick surely would have smarted.

“That’s what you git fer knocking my daddy down! If my brudder wasn’t in school wight now, he’d knock you down, too!” she hollered. Then she turned on her heel, nose still stuck up in the air, and trounced off.

“Sorry. So sorry,” Julien came striding forward, bypassing his wayward child, but there was no denying he was holding onto his mirth. Beside him, Trent was biting his lip. Jessica had taken hold of her daughter’s hand and was whispering scolding words before turning her over to the colored girl whose mouth was still slack with shock.

Emily Emerson was the only one who didn’t appear affected by the child’s attack. Her focus was on Nathanial and the glare she gave him was as fierce as the one she’d thrown his way at the races.

Julien held his hand out, so Nathanial put his in it. Wincing contritely, he said, “Major, your little one’s right, and I apologize. The hit at the races was harder than intended. I didn’t mean to…
er
… knock you down.”

Julien shook his head and grinned. “You didn’t. I tried to tell Jess and Emily as much, but they don’t believe me. And the neck hold was a perfect touch. The whole thing couldn’t have gone better.” More soberly, he added, “Thank you, Nathanial. We appreciate everything you’re doing to help us.”

“I’m guessing you’ve had several visitors this week?” Trent interjected, taking his turn to shake Nathanial’s hand.

“I have,” Nathanial told him. “Sixteen to be exact. Seventeen if you count Harry Simpson this morning, except he didn’t call to speak with me. He came to visit David. But as I mentioned to Colonel Grace a couple weeks ago, I’m sure Harry isn’t involved. He wants nothing to do with the Klan.”

Julien said, “Why don’t we all get comfortable in the parlor, and you can fill us in on what you learned from the other sixteen? How is David, by the way?”

Nathanial momentarily sidestepped Julien’s inquiry about David to ask, “Will your brother be joining us? I was surprised I didn’t see him at the races.”

“Well, no,” Julien smirked. “Etienne’s got himself a new job. He’s taken over teaching at the schoolhouse. It seems he’s having a grand time schmoozing the schoolteacher.”

“We’ll meet back here in two hours,” Sam said, smiling.

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir,” Sadie saluted, teasing.

This was the same dialogue they’d had every day this week, and as had become the daily routine, they’d parked near the train station. From there, on foot, Sadie would go south through the part of town more heavily populated by colored folks. Sam’s job was to search the north side.

Sam was holding his hand out, so Sadie put hers in it and jumped down from the wagon seat. Despite his smile, Sadie knew Sam’s anxiety over Archie’s disappearance was worsening.

“He’s around here somewhere,” she tried to reassure him. “I have a feeling today will be our lucky day.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sam said.

With a final, “See you in two hours,” Sadie started off, following the same route down Main Street. As soon as she was past the railroad yard, she turned left. From there she would move block by block until she’d covered every side street east of Main. Only then would she start back, crisscrossing the blocks on the west end.

While meandering along, casually peering into yards, around fences, up alleyways, and when she could, through windows and doors, she thought of Sam. Somehow, in one way or another, she always seemed to be thinking of Sam. Today her musings were primarily concerned with his appearance. Five days had done wonders for her facial maladies. In fact, she was sure that by this time next week, her bruises wouldn’t even be noticeable. Not so for poor Sam. Although much of the swelling had gone down, his eyes remained discolored. Beneath them, he’d developed deep purple circles. His lip, however, was what Sadie thought of most. Because it was still puffy on one side, his smiles were crooked. Sadie certainly didn’t wish Sam to be in pain. Quite the contrary. But she couldn’t help it that she found his lopsided smile endearing. She liked a whole lot about Sam—a whole lot more than she should.

Because this direction of daydreams was a bad one, Sadie forced herself to move on. Her next stint of woolgathering involved what the townspeople thought of her. That is, if they even noticed her. If anyone had, they might believe the purpose for her daily, nosy meanderings was nefarious in nature. They might think she was a burglar attempting to ascertain which buildings might afford the most loot.

Of course, this was preposterous. Sadie had never stolen anything in her life. Still, the very idea of what others might perceive made her giggle. And as always, this brought her right back around to Sam. Would anyone on the north side of town think the same of him? Sadie couldn’t imagine they would. Sam, all done up in his fancy uniform—even with bruises all over his face—could never give off a disreputable impression.

By the time Sadie was traversing the west end, nearing the area that had once been known as Shanty Town, she was sweating. All she wanted was to be done with this infernal searching and do something enjoyable, like take a dip in the creek. Yesterday, she and Sam had done so, and Sam had brought a book along. Being careful not to get the pages wet, he’d perched himself on a jutting tree root. With his pale toes dangling in the water, he’d read poetry.

She was still thinking about Sam when she spotted the white man leading a horse. He was a robust figure with a thick salt and pepper beard. Although he wasn’t close this time, she was positive he was the same white man she’d seen in Shanty Town two days before.

White men never ventured into Shanty Town, which was why he’d stuck out to her. He’d dismounted and several colored folks, both men and women, had gathered around. So as not to appear out of place, Sadie had sidled up to the small crowd.

“I’m lookin’ for a boy to help work my farm,” the white man had announced, and he’d gone on to explain that whoever worked for him would get three meals a day, a bed to sleep in and money to send to his family. The white man would see to sending the boy’s earnings himself.

Because white folks almost always referred to colored men as ‘boys,’ naturally Sadie assumed the white man wanted an adult field hand, and she hadn’t been the only one in the crowd who misunderstood.

“I’s lookin’ fer work, suh,” a colored man had spoken up. “I’s a hard worker too, suh.”

“Pick me, suh,” another had said. “Ya won’t be sorry.”

“Ova here, suh,” bellowed someone else. “I’s yer man.”

“I apologize if I was unclear,” the white man had interrupted. “I’m looking for a young boy, someone small enough to fit into my chicken coop and collect eggs. You wouldn’t know of any orphans runnin’ about, or boys whose families could use some extra money?”

At that point, Sadie had moved on. There hadn’t seemed any reason to stay, and the surrounding poverty unnerved her. It always had.

Today, the white man wasn’t near the shacks. He was walking along the old railroad track, the one that had been abandoned when the new passenger train tracks had been put in. Children played there. They especially liked climbing around an old boxcar that had been discarded on that track.

Just like every day when she passed by, Sadie could see several colored youngsters romping. Earlier that week, she’d approached them. She’d even climbed into the boxcar and looked around. But nothing indicated Archie had been there, and the children claimed they hadn’t seen a yellow-haired white boy. There hadn’t been any point to walking out to the boxcar again.

Because the white man was heading straight toward the group of children, Sadie’s first thought was that he must not have been successful in finding a boy to work at his farm, and he’d come back to try again. Either that, or someone from Shanty Town had sent him out to the track to seek out a particular child.

Like the other day, there didn’t seem any reason for Sadie to watch the forthcoming interchange between the white man and children. Even from a distance she could tell the youngsters were all colored. If Archie had been among them, his yellow hair would have made him stand out like a sore thumb. She should have just kept on walking, but she didn’t.

When the children saw the white man coming, some of them fled. Not for long, however. The white man retrieved something from his saddlebags. The next thing Sadie knew, the colored children surrounded him—even the ones who had fled came running back—and they all had what looked like chalk, but had to be peppermint sticks, in their mouths.

Sadie was too far to hear, but she guessed the white man asked if any of them wanted to come work for him. She saw several heads shake negatively. This, however, was of no consequence to her and dallying any longer wouldn’t find Archie. Sadie started forward. What compelled her to glance back, she didn’t know, but she did glance back.

And there, jumping down out of the boxcar was a pale-headed white boy—Archie! Sadie starting running. “Archie! Archie!” she yelled.

She was still running and yelling when the white man mounted his horse, then reached down to lift Archie up. He settled Archie in front of him, waved to the other children and continued on past them along the tracks.

“Wait, please, sir!” By then, Sadie was close enough for him to hear. “Where are you taking him?”

The white man stopped and glanced over his shoulder. She heard him ask Archie, “Do you know that darkie gal, son?”

Archie popped a peppermint stick out of his mouth and spouted, “No!”

The white man turned again to look at Sadie, so he didn’t see Archie stick his tongue out. Promptly thereafter, the boy replaced his candy.

Sadie was huffing and puffing by then, but she managed to say, “He does know me. He’s my…my… I mean, he’s Lieutenant Murphy’s brother. We’ve been looking for him for days. Please, sir. He has to come home.”

“I got me a job now, and I ain’t goin’ back,” Archie hollered to Sadie. To the white man, he said, “Please, Mister. I wanna work at yer farm. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“Obviously Archie knows where to go if he wants to go home,” the white man said. “He’ll be free to leave my farm anytime he wants, but it seems right now he’d rather come with me. And we have to get going. We’ve got chickens to feed and eggs to collect, right Archie?”

“Yes, sir!” Archie grinned.

“You can tell Archie’s brother not to worry,” the white man said. “I’ll take good care of him.”

With that he clucked to his horse and moved on down the tracks. Sadie didn’t know if it was because she was so out of breath, or just flustered by the whole encounter, but it took a moment for her to realize she’d forgotten something of vital importance. Running again, she tried to close the distance, but the white man was going too fast.

The only option left was to bellow, “Sir, please, I need to tell Lieutenant Murphy where Archie is. I need your name.”

The man didn’t reply. But Archie did, calling out, “Oscar. His name’s Oscar. And he’s my new daddy!”