Healing Grace (6 page)

“It wasn’t you,” she said contritely, then added, “There really was a rat.”

At that, he burst out laughing, and his deep throaty chuckle was infectious. Constance joined in.

When finally she could, she said, “Thank you, by the way, for covering for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “To get to the schoolhouse, we turn here? It’s been a while since I’ve been in these parts.”

“Yes. This is the way.”

“Come on, Igore,” he coaxed.

Constance couldn’t hold back any longer. “You named your horse Igore?” she blurted.

It was dark, but there was no mistaking the mischievous flash in Etienne’s eyes. “He was an ogre when I got him. It took me months to get him to listen. But now we’re pals, right buddy?”

As he spoke, he bent forward to stroke the dark stallion’s neck. Leaning back again, he asked, “How long have you had Izzy? She’s a real powerhouse… a beauty.”

“I’ve had her almost two years. After I moved here, I thought it would be a good idea to get a horse, and Emily invited me to pick from the stock at Grace Manor. Trent tried to discourage me from Izzy. He said she’s too much horse for me.”

“Is she?”

“Maybe.” Constance shrugged, and copying him, leaned forward to stroke Izzy’s neck. “I saw her in the barn and couldn’t resist. I guess you could say it was love at first sight.”

“Was it?” Etienne murmured.

“Go, Sadie!”

“I told you, I just have to finish this chapter!” Sadie snapped.

She was slouched in the wide sagging chair with her feet dangling over one thickly cushioned arm—the most comfortable seat one could find. With the lamp on the table burning brightly beside her, she was utterly engrossed. Who wouldn’t be while reading Dickens?

But then, in her peripheral vision she noticed her father, still standing there, but postured now, with feet planted and fists on hips.

Contritely she murmured, “I’m sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to yell. I’m almost finished.”

Wally’s eyes narrowed. “Dose infernal books o’ yers! All ya eva wanna do is dat dere readin’. It ain’t healfy. An’ I done tol’ Missus ya’d take care o’ dat soldier Mista Etienne brought wif ’im. I done showed ’im to da house a whole hour ago, at leas’.”

“Miss Jessica brought this for me,” Sadie mumbled as she attempted to pull herself up out of the concave seat, not such an easy thing to do.

“Missus Jesska done brought ya a whole stack of dem books. You’ll be good fer nofin’ fer I don’ know how long,” Wally muttered as he stomped off.

Most likely he was going to bed. Her father was an early riser and that meant he went to bed early too, which was just fine with Sadie. She could read undisturbed for as long as she wanted. Many times she’d still been immersed when her father padded in, rubbing his eyes and wondering if she would fry him up some eggs.

Now, however, she did need to do what her father had asked. Although why it was necessary she didn’t know. She’d cleaned and changed the bed linens at the vacant house next door a week ago, before Mr. Emerson died.

Poor Mr. Emerson
. Just thinking of him still had the power to choke her. Sadie would miss him, and his stories, even if she’d heard them a hundred times already. She would miss his nosey poking around the kitchen while she tried to make meals, and his yumming groans when he was finally settled at the table with fork in hand.

Mr. Emerson’s passing also meant Sadie no longer had a job. Without a job, she would have no spare money to spend on books. Whenever she had enough saved, she gave it to Mr. Trent, or Miss Emily, or sometimes the schoolteacher, Miss Constance. They would go to the bookstore and buy books for her. A few times Miss Constance had lent her books she’d gotten from the library, and once she’d suggested Sadie save money by doing the same. Sadie supposed, without income, she wouldn’t have a choice in that regard. The only problem was, like the bookstore, colored people weren’t allowed in the library.

Sadie didn’t bother with shoes or a shawl as she slipped through the door and out into the night. It wasn’t far to the vacant house, and she’d traversed the path so many times, she could have done it in her sleep. She was lost in thought—would the library let her in if she pretended the books were for her mistress? She didn’t have a mistress, but she could say she worked for Miss Emily. Miss Emily wouldn’t mind. Her musings were interrupted by movement in the bushes under one of the bedroom windows.

It could have been a squirrel, or a raccoon, or any number of harmless wild creatures that foraged the nearby woods. But that’s not what it was. It was a child… a boy. A white boy. Moonlight spilling over the pale face and yellow hair gave him away.

“What are you doing there?” Sadie called out, but the boy was already running.

Why a white boy would be snooping around these houses—houses lived in by the people who served Grace Manor—didn’t make sense. All of the employees on the estate were black. Regardless—white, black, green or purple, didn’t much matter—the boy was clearly up to no good.

Sadie took off after him, adeptly skittering through the grass and patches of dirt. Instead of going toward the trees, where sticks and leaves would have slowed her on bare feet, the boy went around to the rear of the house and that was good. By the time he rounded the corner to the other side, she’d almost caught up to him. In the next instant she did.

“Let go! Let me go!” the boy wailed as her fingers fisted in his shirt and spun him.

He flailed madly. His forearm slammed hard enough under her chin to knock her head back and make her teeth clap, but Sadie didn’t let go.

“Stop it!” she hollered, though it didn’t help. He clocked her again, and this time his balled fist caught her across the cheekbone.

He left her no choice. The only way to subdue him was to wrestle him to the ground, so that’s what she did. A second later she had him down on his stomach, arms behind his back, wrists together in her grip.

“Get off me, you dumb nigger!” he screeched.

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing here, you… you white trash… white trash
juvenile!”
Sadie fired back.

“I ain’t no
juvenile!”
he hollered. “You can’t call me that!”

“Uhhh, excuse me…?”

Sadie’s head snapped up. Just a few feet away was a man—a white man—with no clothes on!

“Sam! Sam! Help!” the kid wailed. “It’s me! Archie!”

The blinding glare reflecting off all that pale flesh had been enough to cause Sadie’s eyes to squeeze shut. Marginally she opened one of them—the one that wasn’t smarting. And no, the man wasn’t
entirely
naked. He had trousers on.

The kid was still hollering, “Sam! Get this tramp off me! Sam! She called me a juv…
juvlenite!”

Hadn’t Wally said the soldier’s name was Sam? Which meant the mostly naked man was the soldier. And the kid knew him.

“Archie, be quiet,” he said.

Sadie let go and scrambled to her feet. Her cheekbone, where the kid had hit her, was throbbing. Humbly she stepped back, attempting in the process to smooth the mess her skirt had become.

“Are you alright?”

Assuming the question was posed to the boy, Sadie took another step away. She didn’t look up.

“Sam, that nigger gal called me a jub…
jublewine!
” the boy yelled.

“I told you to be quiet,” the soldier said, firmly this time. Then his voice lowered and he asked again, “Are you alright?”

Sadie smelled him before she saw him. Honeysuckle and heather, like the fancy soap Miss Emily used—the same soap Sadie had left in the house when she’d cleaned it. Then his feet came into view. He didn’t have shoes on, either. The slender white feet sticking out from under dark britches gleamed.

“I heard the commotion,” he said. “I was in the bath. I’m sorry.”

Sadie dared to look up… right on past all that… that
whiteness.
He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry. His face was pleasant, kind of round and boyish with narrow, oval eyes, but the darkness of night hid the color. Belatedly she realized his slicked back hair looked dark because it was wet. It was probably as pale as the boy’s.

“I saw him peeking in the window, and thought… I thought…” Sadie’s voice trailed off.

“That nigger called me a jug…
jugleybine!”
Archie bellowed.

The half-naked soldier spun around. His trim, pallid shoulders and back glowed as much as his front side.

“Well, you are a jugleybine!” he said to the boy. “The word is
juvenile
and it means child, which is exactly what you are. What are you doing here, Archie? You can’t be here. Go home.”

“But I don’t want to go home,” Archie whined. “I don’t like it there. Daddy’s mean. I wish he never came home. I wish he was still in prison!”

“Archie! That’s enough,” the soldier murmured harshly.

“Why can’t I stay with you? Please, Sam. Please. I’ll be good.”

Ignoring the boy, the soldier turned again to Sadie. “I’m sorry about this. I’d hoped to be a quiet, undisruptive neighbor. Are you okay?”

“I, uh…” Sadie stammered. “Miss Emily asked me to make sure your accommodations are satisfactory. I can change the linens if they’re not fresh enough—”

“The house is nice,” the solider interrupted, smiling. “Bigger than I expected. And the linens are fine.”

“Except niggers lived there!” Archie blurted.

Once more the soldier turned on the boy. “Last warning, Archie. Apologize to Miss… Miss…?”

“Sadie. My name is Sadie.”

“I won’t!” Archie hollered.

“You will.” The soldier grabbed the boy by the collar.

It took a moment, and a stern look, but eventually Archie mumbled, “I apologize.” He didn’t sound like he meant it, but the soldier let him go anyway.

“Stay right there. And then I’ll take you home,” he said to the boy.

“Don’t bother! You’re as mean as Daddy. All you care about is your dumb colonel.” With that, Archie took off, his slight figure fading into the darkness.

For a moment Sadie watched the soldier, who was staring after the boy, an anxious expression on his ashen profile. Then she said, “Do you want to go after him? To make sure he makes it home okay?”

As if her comment startled him, the soldier turned abruptly. “No, I… Archie hit you pretty hard. There by your eye.” He reached up like he was going to touch her, but then drew his hand back and winced.

Sadie thought maybe he’d stepped on a pebble, or a root hidden in the grass. That is, until he spoke again and she realized his flinch had been empathetic. She was stunned.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I, uh… a cool cloth will help with the swelling. Would you like to come in? I have water. I can—”

“No, no, thank you. I’m fine.” Sadie was already running away, along the path to her own home, skirts flying.

Halfway, something compelled her to glance back. And like she’d been caught in a trap, though she was still running, she couldn’t look away. The soldier was still there, in the middle of the yard, all that exposed flesh drenched in moonlight. He was…
glistening!

Never in the whole of her life could Sadie remember being so utterly dazzled.

Constance saw the four men before anyone else did.

This was because the minister was praying and everyone had their heads bowed and eyes closed. She’d opened hers because Rebecca tugged on her hand. The little girl didn’t need anything, really. She was just antsy, as any five year old would be in such a situation—her grandfather’s funeral. Constance had offered to take charge of Rebecca, Daniel and Jules during the church service and here at the internment. Because they were too young to attend, Lauren and Mary had remained at Grace Manor in Lucy’s care.

The four men stood under a tree, down a graduated slope, too distant from the rest of the gathering to hear the minister’s remarks. Yet, by their dark suited attire, it appeared they’d come to pay their respects, and one of them Constance knew. Even from afar Harry Simpson’s blond hair made him stand out.

Harry’s being here wasn’t good. Not when Trent and Julien believed he might be responsible for Luther’s death. Not sure if she should alert Trent, or Emily, or any of the others gathered around the casket, Constance glanced about. It was then that she noticed Etienne wasn’t bowed in prayer, either. He wasn’t far from her, just a few paces over. Daniel and Jules were between them. Because of their proximity Constance was able to follow Etienne’s line of vision. Strangely, he was fixedly—almost crossly—focused on Julien and Jessica’s clasped hands.

But then, as if sensing Constance’s gaze, he glanced over. While the minister droned on, using her eyes alone, she indicated the distant bystanders. For a moment Etienne stared at them. Then he looked at her again, and in silent acknowledgment, nodded his thanks.

Because of how they were situated surrounding the casket, Julien, Jessica, Trent and Emily’s backs were to the four men. They wouldn’t see them. As soon as the prayer concluded, Etienne caught his brother’s eye. The next thing Constance saw was Julien look over his shoulder. Like Etienne, he made no move, but returned his attention to the minister. Constance was fairly certain if Trent had been alerted to what was going on, his reaction would have been quite different.

As it was, Julien said nothing to Trent until the service concluded. Constance wasn’t sure, but it seemed like Julien was purposely railroading the entire group to the opposite side of the casket, the side where she, the children, Etienne, and his shadow, Sam, stood. The moment Trent was made aware of the four men, his fury emerged.

“How dare they?” he seethed. The only thing that kept him from charging down the hill was Julien’s restraining grip.

The rest of the dialogue, due to the way they lowered their voices wasn’t easy to hear. It didn’t help that the children were chattering either, but Constance did pick up names. The men with Harry Simpson were the other two who had been released from prison, Archie’s father, Edward Murphy and David Houser. The last man was the former leader of the Klan, known as Stone.

The next thing Constance heard Julien say was, “They’re waiting. They want us to approach.”

“No!” Emily screeched. “We have enough enemies in this town. We don’t need any more. Just be thankful they didn’t come any closer. Maybe Etienne’s right. Maybe they’ve come to offer condolences. Maybe they’re not guilty.”

Jessica caught Julien’s arm and pleaded, “Please, Julien, just let them go. What if they’re armed? What if this is a trap?”

“I’ll go, sir,” Sam suggested.

“No,” Etienne said firmly. Then turning to his sister-in-law, he went on, “Not to worry, Jessie. Julien may be older than me, but I outrank him. He isn’t going anywhere. He and the rest of you will stay here behind the casket. Keep the children down. Trent, are you loaded? Good. Come with me. Remember, I do the talking.” Then he added, smirking, “Sam, I need you to watch Julien. If he moves, shoot him in the foot.”