by Lyn Cote
A stunned moment, followed by applause and well-bred words of encouragement.
Blessing raised her glass and glanced at Gerard Ramsay on her right.
The man looked grim.
She watched furtively as he gained control of his features and cast them into a bright, congratulatory expression. Why didn’t he want Tippy’s father to run for office?
Then she recalled seeing Gerard at the bank. Perhaps he was trying to move ahead with his ill-advised scheme to start a horse-racing track. If he’d hoped to gain support from Mr. Foster and any of his set, this announcement would impinge on his plans. A reform candidate would not want his name linked to a racetrack.
Where was the elation she would have thought she’d feel over this setback for Gerard? Since everyone was still talking and backslapping, out of the corner of her eye, she continued to study the man. Due to the general chaos, she could do this for a few moments without stirring up his notice.
One thing became clear to her. Ramsay was not happy. He even looked a little sickly. Too many nights drinking and carousing could lead a man to ill health.
A tiny seed of concern for him germinated. He’s as lost as the men his racetrack might bring to ruin. This knowledge stiffened around her heart, just a simple band of worry. Was it possible to save Gerard Ramsay from himself? And why did that matter to her?
SEPTEMBER 15, 1848
A few days later, Gerard entered the same seedy tavern he’d visited twice before, having received a message that Smith wanted to see him tonight. Gerard resented the barely disguised order and the way these meetings with Mr. Smith made him feel. It was a cross between the apprehension of entering his father’s presence as a child and the intimidation of older, bullying boys at school.
Gerard kept his smooth outward mask in place and forced himself to show no sign of nervousness as he sat down across from the man. He needed Smith to navigate the murky waters of the bookmakers, but after the racetrack was up and running, they would see each other only in passing. Tonight, in contrast to their last meeting, the tavern was full of people, both men and women, drinking and talking in small groups. Gerard drew some comfort from the presence of others.
“So Foster is going to run as a reform candidate for the state legislature?” Smith said, his accented voice low and mocking.
“Yes, that simply means I must cast my net further into society,” Gerard said with outward composure. “I’ve just begun—”
A man at the bar laughed explosively, drowning Gerard’s words and setting his teeth on edge.
“I’ll give you the names of some men who might be ripe for our enterprise,” Smith cut in.
Gerard did not like the our. “Again, I must insist that this is my enterprise. I contacted you strictly for your knowledge of Cincinnati racing.”
“Don’t worry, Mister Ramsay. I know our parts in this.” Smith eyed him, a wry grin creeping over his face.
Gerard sensed the man was trying to make him nervous, but he resisted giving in. Smith might be dangerous, but only if crossed, and Gerard didn’t intend to cross him. Besides, he had the security of cold steel—the very newest Colt—tucked in a leather holster under his arm. He waited Smith out.
Finally, after a long silence, Smith said, “I hear you are getting friendly with the good widow Brightman.”
Gerard didn’t like hearing Blessing’s name coming off Smith’s curled lips. He went for his best nonchalant shrug. “She amuses me.”
“And she’s attractive and very wealthy,” Smith continued smoothly. “I can see why you’re tempted.” He chuckled in a way that implied carnality.
Gerard fought to avoid rising to the taunt.
“She is a thorn in my garden,” Smith pronounced. “She disrupts trade and goes where she doesn’t belong. If you can interest her—give her something better to do with her time—that would be a welcome development to many at the docks. And could also, in the end, make life easier for her.”
The subtle threat in these words caused a reaction more powerful than Gerard could have predicted. “Mrs. Brightman is an unusual woman.”
Smith laughed out loud. “She is indeed, and perhaps you are the man who can return her to her proper place.”
“And what’s that?” Gerard drawled, though the question played into Smith’s hand.
“Under a man’s . . . thumb.”
Repulsed by the bawdy insinuation, Gerard stared at the man and rose. “I’ll continue with my own plans. Good evening.”
Smith nodded, smirking.
As Gerard walked away, Smith called after him, “I’ll bid you good luck with the widow, then!”
Gerard ignored it. He wanted to best Blessing, not ruin her. Originally, he had planned to do a little drinking and discussing the racetrack here on the wharf tonight. Now, as he walked the quay, he just wanted to get home to his room at Mrs. Mather’s.
But perhaps he’d stop at that neighborhood tavern near the boardinghouse and have a quiet drink with the barkeep. He would be glad once his racetrack was up and running, and he’d never have to associate with Mr. Smith or his ilk again.
Then he recalled something his cousin had mentioned over breakfast this morning, and an idea for making mischief with the widow began forming in his mind. She’d refuse, of course, but it would be amusing to tempt her. Especially since the “temptation” he had in mind was a far cry from what Smith had suggested.
SEPTEMBER 18, 1848
Blessing was sitting in the orphanage kitchen holding Luke when the cook answered a knock at the back door. As always, this infant called to Blessing in a way none other had. Something in the child had touched her heart in an unusual way. Just as she was kissing his downy head, she heard a vaguely familiar voice say, “The widow said I could come see my nephew.”
“Come on in, then,” the cook replied.
Blessing turned to see Ducky Hughes, neatly dressed, entering the room. “Ducky Hughes, thee came.” She couldn’t keep the pleased surprise from her voice. So few of the orphans had any visitors. And perhaps Blessing might yet find a way to help this woman.
Like a doe about to venture out of the forest, Ducky hesitated just inside the doorway. She very obviously scanned the room, taking in Rebecca still lying on her cot. Glances of recognition between the two connected and then slid apart. Yes, they had lived—and suffered—in the same world.
“Come in and see the child,” Blessing encouraged, not forcing the two to greet each other.
Ducky took a few steps forward but still stood back from Blessing. “Oh, Danny looks good.” Her words were packed with relief and gratitude. She reached out but then pulled her hand back.
Blessing glanced over Ducky’s shoulder to the cook. “Please pour our guest a cup of tea.” She rose and nearly pushed the other woman into the nearest chair. “Would thee like to hold him?”
Ducky looked painfully uncertain. “Can I?”
Blessing set Luke in her arms. “Did thee call him Danny?”
For a moment, the woman said nothing, just gazed at the child in her arms. With her head down, she replied, “Yes, I named him for his grandfather.”
“He is your nephew?” Blessing probed gently, making sure she’d heard right.
Ducky nodded, still not looking up.
The cook set a cup of tea, the milk and sugar pots, and a plate of fragrant oatmeal-and-raisin cookies in front of the woman. “I baked yesterday. Your boy’s a sweet baby.”
Ducky looked up. “He is. Thanks for the tea and such. Can’t remember the last time I had a cookie.”
Blessing didn’t ask any further questions. She had found that just sitting in comforting silence often opened mouths shut by suffering. Many prized a sympathetic ear above rubies.
The cook also delivered a cup of hot tea to Rebecca and set one in front of Blessing, who sipped quietly and waited, hoping for Ducky to tell her more about this child and how he came to be here.
“My sister and me,” Ducky began haltingly, “lost our pa
rents when we were still kids.” She lifted her head as if to meet Blessing’s gaze but lowered her chin again. “They were respectable people. Afterward we stayed with a friend of our mother’s until she died. Cholera.” Ducky stared down at the tea in her cup, lost in sorrow.
“So thee only had thy sister?” Blessing prompted gently.
Ducky nodded and at last sipped her tea. “I’m glad I heard of you. I want better for Danny.”
“Of course. What is thy family history? When he’s older, Danny will want to know and be proud of his grandfather.”
At this encouragement Ducky raised her head with a trace of dignity. “My dad, Daniel Hughes, worked as a cobbler. My mother’s maiden name was Cummings. They come here from Syracuse, New York.”
Blessing stored away this information. She had found that sharing parts of her own story helped visitors like Ducky feel understood, so she said, “I am blessed with four sisters and a brother. But as children, we did lose another brother and sister to measles. That was hard.”
Ducky looked into Blessing’s eyes for the first time. “Death comes for everybody.”
“Yes.” And sometimes it brought blessed relief. She gripped her cup, thinking what her life would be like if Richard still lived. Guilt twisted her stomach for being glad of his early death. “There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”
Both of them remained silent for a moment, and Blessing sensed Rebecca’s rapt attention on her dealings with Danny and his aunt. “Ducky, can I help thee?”
“No, I’m fine.” The answer was quick. “I’m just grateful you took in Danny.”
“I’m glad thee came to visit him. I hope thee will again.”
“I will if I can.”
Theodosia came down after leaving her children with the others. Baby Luke—Daniel Lucas Hughes, Blessing mentally adjusted his name—sent up a yelp when he saw her.
Ducky finished her tea and, with obvious satisfaction, watched her nephew nurse in Theodosia’s embrace. When Ducky rose to leave, she had noticeably relaxed and looked refreshed. She turned to Blessing. “Ma’am, walk me out, please?”
Blessing wondered at this request but rose obediently to accompany her. Halfway to the gate that led outside the large garden, Ducky halted. She leaned close and said just above a whisper, “As soon as that girl is well enough to travel, you need to get her out of the city. Her pimp is a mean one, and I think he’s killed girls that don’t obey him. And he never gives up a girl he wants to keep. Everybody knows about this place. He’ll come after her.”
The words, spoken urgently, chilled Blessing. “I will.”
“Good.” Ducky hurried toward the gate. She opened it and turned back. “But you didn’t hear it from me, right?”
“Right,” Blessing agreed, following her.
Ducky impulsively grabbed Blessing’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you for taking in my Danny.” As if embarrassed by her own action, the woman rushed away, the gate flapping shut behind her.
After latching the gate, Blessing stood still, her hands pressed against the wooden slats as she prayed for Ducky—not only about her life but her soul. Then the need to take action to protect Rebecca asserted itself.
Blessing had to come up with some plan of escape for the girl. For now, she might need to hire a strong young man from Joanna’s church to sleep in the carriage house with the driver. No man would try to break into the orphanage in daylight, but nighttime was a different matter. Satan did not give up his prey easily.
SEPTEMBER 22, 1848
Blessing paused inside her front door, pulling on her gloves as she prepared to leave. She had come to a decision about Rebecca and was taking action. She only hoped her plan would succeed in protecting the girl and providing her with a chance to change her life.
She turned to her housekeeper, Salina. “I’ll probably stay the night. Or even another day after that. So don’t worry about me.”
“I never do,” Salina said. “If I did, I’d have to quit. You always goin’ to the docks at all hours—”
“Salina,” Blessing cautioned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Salina said sharply, almost saluting.
“When thee accepted the position—”
Salina stopped her with laughter. “We are a pair for sure. Don’t you worry—”
Both of them were interrupted by the tapping of the brass knocker.
Salina moved forward to answer the summons yet only opened the door halfway, shielding Blessing from view. “Mr. Ramsay, good morning, sir.”
“I know it’s early, but I heard Mrs. Brightman was leaving town this morning and I wanted to catch her before she left.”
Salina looked to Blessing, who came forward.
“Is thee keeping track of my movements, Gerard Ramsay?” she asked in a withering tone.
“When I need to.” The man smirked at her and held out an envelope. “I’ve come to invite you to join me and Stoddard and your friend Miss Foster in attending a play at the seminary.”
“A play? At the seminary?” He’d certainly broached the unexpected.
Ramsay chuckled. “A bit unusual for such an institution, I confess, but it isn’t a professional production. No paid actors. Or actresses. The students themselves have decided to perform one of Shakespeare’s plays—Hamlet, to be specific—and have persuaded the seminary faculty that it is a worthy project. There will be only one performance, and I’ve already obtained four tickets.” He waved them at her again. “Will you accept the final one?”
Blessing stared at him and the ticket he offered. He must know that Quakers and a number of other Christians didn’t attend the theater because of the vagabond and loose lifestyle of many actors and actresses. While married to Richard, Blessing had gone to a few plays performed by traveling troupes, and she had enjoyed them. But she had returned to the meeting now. “Thee knows I cannot.”
He tilted his head. “A lady who goes to the wharf most every night can’t attend a cultural event at a seminary?”
When he put it like that, her resolve was hard to defend. Yes, she did go places that most Christian women would never frequent. But it wasn’t as if she ventured onto the wharf for her own entertainment. The elders at her meeting had approved her work, though they did not like it much.
“I will leave the ticket with you,” he said, laying it on the foyer table and replacing his hat on his head. “And will visit you again after you have taken time to consider my invitation.” Then he bowed and left, whistling.
Blessing and Salina exchanged glances.
“That man up to something,” Salina muttered.
“Yes, he is—all the time.” Blessing tied her bonnet ribbons and walked outside, where her gig awaited. She must be off while the sun was still ascending. Rebecca already sat in the vehicle, looking fearful. Blessing patted her hand and smiled reassuringly, praying that this carriage would take the girl to safety.
Blessing and Rebecca sat side by side in the gig as they threaded through the outskirts of the city. The cooler autumn weather was pleasant, so Blessing had chosen this open vehicle for the trip. The highest leaves of a few maple boughs were tinged with scarlet. Once the women were outside the city, aptly nicknamed Porkopolis, Blessing breathed in the sweet fresh air.
The girl beside her was still painfully thin, but her color had returned and the bleeding had stopped. Today, with Rebecca dressed in new clothing and a wide-brimmed bonnet, Blessing doubted anyone would have recognized her. She had told Rebecca little about the reason for this trip, but the girl appeared to trust her—or perhaps she was simply desperate enough to follow her lead.
As they neared Sharpesburg, however, Blessing decided it was time to explain her plan. “Rebecca, I am taking thee to visit my family.”
The girl looked sideways at her but said nothing.
Blessing read the uncertainty and the fear that always lurked in Rebecca’s eyes. “I want to warn thee before we arrive that my family may appear a bi
t different from most. My father became deaf as a child, and my adopted cousin, Caleb, is also deaf. So my family members all speak with their hands in a sign language.”
“None of them talk?” the girl blurted out.
“They speak in words and sign at the same time—” Blessing demonstrated by signing what she was saying—“so that my father and cousin can understand what is being said. It puts some people off, so I hope thee will be kind.”
Rebecca looked concerned. “I never been around deaf people before.”
“My parents are unusual in another way too. Most others judge people based on their pasts, but my parents don’t judge. Thee will be welcomed by them as an honored guest.” She waited, giving the girl time to absorb this.
“Will they know what I’ve been?” she asked in a little voice.
“They may guess, but they will not comment on it or make inquiries. Thee isn’t the first girl I’ve brought to them.”
“Why do I need to be brought to them?”
“I don’t think thee wants to go back to the docks, and thee can’t stay forever at the orphanage without being found out. We must begin the process of helping thee find a better, secure way of life far from there.”
The girl laughed mirthlessly. “I’m a fallen woman. Nobody wants me but . . . customers.”
“Rebecca, all have sinned. I know society says that girls who have been prostitutes can never be forgiven or reclaimed. But I reject that, and so do my parents. They have helped two other girls in thy situation find respectable husbands.” Blessing didn’t mention that a third girl, given the same chance, had never made it to Sharpesburg. Addicted to alcohol and laudanum, she’d run away from the orphanage and back down the bluff to the quay. But Blessing was confident Rebecca would not follow that path—in any case, as confident as possible under the circumstances.
Rebecca said nothing but did not look convinced.
Two deer emerged from the woods and stared at the gig, negotiating the rough road.
Blessing patted her companion’s hand. “We need not look too far ahead. For now, thee will take refuge with my family. Thee will be safe there.”
