Healing Grace Read Free Page B

flattened grass. It could be a deer, or a dog, or another animal that had somehow met its demise. But even as these thoughts came to her, Sadie knew she was wrong.
    Her throat was tight as she pulled the brake and jumped down. It was even more clogged as she pushed into the waist-high grass. Mr. Emerson’s heart had probably given out. Old hearts did that. When it happened, he’d been on his way home from Grace Manor, which meant he’d been lying there, beside the road, for several days. Sadie knew before she saw the body that Mr. Emerson would be dead. What she didn’t expect was the blood.
    Mr. Emerson was covered in it—his jacket, waistcoat and shirt—and more was pooled on the ground around him. It wasn’t bright red, like fresh blood would have been. It was more a burnished brown, but that was because time and the sun had dried it.
    Covering her mouth with both hands, Sadie spun away. It was all she could do to keep the bile that rose in her gut from coming up. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stood there, bent over. All she could think was that an animal had gotten to him. That’s why Mr. Emerson was bloody. She didn’t want to look again. More than anything in the world, she didn’t want to.
    But she did look, this time forcing her eyes past all that blood, to Mr. Emerson’s face. His expression wasn’t distressed. In fact, it appeared he was merely sleeping. Under her breath she whispered, “Poor Mr. Emerson. Poor, poor Mr. Emerson.”
    There was nothing Sadie could do. She wasn’t strong enough to gather Mr. Emerson up and hoist him into the wagon. She would have to get her father. And Mr. Trent. Mr. Trent would be upset. So would Miss Emily and the children. Those dear little ones adored their grandpa.
    Sadie was about to turn away, when something near Mr. Emerson’s out-flung arm caught her eye. Pebbles had been neatly stacked on top of what looked like a scrap of parchment. Someone had set the stones deliberately. They’d done it to keep the wind from whisking the paper away.
    Carefully Sadie stepped closer, around Mr. Emerson’s legs, and reached down to pluck the parchment from under the pebbles. The bloody streaks on it weren’t what caused her to instantly drop it.
    Caught by the breeze, the paper fluttered back and forth over the long grass, then skittered down and landed on Mr. Emerson’s crimson-coated chest. The words written there were in view, as if the paper itself wanted to ensure its message wouldn’t be missed.
    We don’t like traitors.
    K.K.K.

THREE
    The colonel’s office was large, with its dark paneled walls and polished floorboards. Burgundy drapes had been drawn to block out the heat of the afternoon sun. Dominating one side of the room was a desk, as deeply stained as the walls, and messily piled high with papers and books, inkwells and writing implements, and several coffee cups.
    As the colonel’s adjutant, Lieutenant Sam Murphy slipped silently through the door, his first thought was that it was good he was back. He’d only taken ten days’ leave and already the colonel’s desk was in utter disarray.
    The formidable man himself was in the middle of the room, in process of circling two at-attention officer candidates.
    “I could have your dishonorable discharge for this. Is that what you want?” the colonel said sternly as he stopped in front of the redheaded one. The soldier was at least half a foot shorter than the colonel. Both cadets were. Then again, everybody was shorter than the colonel.
    “No, sir!” the redhead barked.
    “And you, James?” the colonel side-stepped to glare down at the dark-haired one.
    “No, sir!” James exclaimed.
    The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “Whose idea was it?”
    “Mine, sir,” the redhead spoke up.
    “Is that right, James?” The colonel’s glower remained fixed on the second cadet.
    “No, sir.”
    “No? So, if this breach of the honor code wasn’t Harrison’s idea, then it was yours, James?” the colonel