Healing Grace Read Free

on you, I’ll understand and won’t bother you again.”
    So Constance had listened as Harry spoke of his involvement with the Ku Klux Klan. She knew of the Klan, and she’d read about their violence, but she’d never actually seen a Klansman, or known of anyone who was one. Harry had continued on, telling her of the crimes he’d committed in the name of the Klan, of being convicted of rape and murder, and his subsequent incarceration.
    Constance had been appalled by Harry’s admissions, and she probably would have remained so had it not been for the rest of what Harry said.
    “I was a young foolish kid,” he murmured. “I never thought about the people I hurt, or their families. Being sent to prison was what I deserved.
    “Take some time to think on it, Mrs. Pruitt. I don’t have much to offer, especially for someone as genteel and smart as you. I’m thirty-two years old and don’t even have a home of my own. I work my father’s farm for him.
    “God knows I don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. But I have to ask, once you’ve had a chance to think on it, if you decide you don’t want me to call on you in a romantic sense, I was just wondering, if you would consider… if you could see it in your heart to… be my friend.”
    That day, Harry’s humility broke Constance’s heart. She’d had to blink, and blink again. And then she had to shake herself. To lighten everything, she’d stuck her arm through the crook of Harry’s and said brightly, “If we’re going to be friends, I think you should call me Constance, don’t you?”
    Constance couldn’t deny she enjoyed Harry’s company. And even if his compliments were exaggerated, they were nice to hear. She found herself taking special care with her hair and clothes, just in case he happened by, like today. This was the third time he’d unexpectedly stopped at the schoolhouse.
    Still, the guilt ate at her. Harry had been forthcoming about his past. She, on the other hand, had disclosed nothing of her own. She supposed this was because somewhere inside a fleeting hope was beginning to grow. She wasn’t good enough for anyone else, but maybe, just maybe, she was good enough for someone like Harry.
    He’d committed horrible wrongs against people.
    Physically Constance had never harmed a living soul, but she’d desperately wanted to, and in her mind that was just as bad.

TWO
    “Mr. Emerson!” Sadie Timmons called out as she pushed through the kitchen door. Her arms were loaded with foodstuffs and other supplies she’d brought from town. Hastily, lest she drop something, she set them on the table. Or tried to.
    The burlap sack of potatoes tipped over and, because the drawstring wasn’t pulled tight, the whole lot went rolling. Scrambling, Sadie attempted to prevent the potatoes from tumbling off the table, but she didn’t have enough hands. Several landed with successive thumps, and then went off in every direction across the floorboards.
    “Dagnabbit!” she screeched.
    Only after she’d gathered them up and securely righted the satchel, did it occur to her that she hadn’t heard Mr. Emerson’s customary hail, “That you, Sadie girl?” He didn’t come waddling into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together, spouting, “What scrumptious meal are you going to prepare for me today?”
    And that was just odd.
    Sadie was Luther’s only servant. The farmlands that were part of his property were now rented out, so Luther didn’t need anyone to tend them. His only need was someone to take care of the house, the handful of barn animals and him. Sadie cleaned, cooked, did laundry and fed chickens. But these chores didn’t take more than a few hours. Most of her time with Mr. Emerson was spent in the parlor reading to him, or listening as he droned on about his family. He liked to talk about his grandchildren, and he liked to tell stories about his own children when they were young.
    Sadie knew Mr. Emerson’s children, Mr. Trent and Miss