Blessing

by Lyn Cote

  “Yes, it’s a young girl.”

  “Let’s go now.”

  Within minutes a girl who looked only around thirteen marched through the walled garden and out the back gate, shielded between Adela and Blessing. Under the cover provided by the open carriage doors, the girl climbed inside. Blessing let down the concealed door—a flap, really—in the front of her seat, exposing a small, padded berth. “It will be uncomfortable.”

  “Don’t matter to me,” the runaway muttered. “Just get me out of the city as fast as you can. Please.” She slipped under the seat, curling up her legs to fit.

  Blessing fastened the trapdoor, climbed in, and tapped the ceiling. The carriage rolled away instantly. Blessing had no trouble figuring out this young slave’s dilemma. Beautiful and expensively dressed, she was appallingly some master’s mistress.

  The heavy responsibility for this young woman’s safety settled over Blessing. As she rode through the city streets, she secretly longed to be free of the burdens she carried—orphans, runaways . . . the past.

  Gerard slowed his mount as he rode into Sharpesburg. He’d been intrigued by how few people lived in the miles just beyond Cincinnati. Along the way, one obviously lonely woman had come out to speak to him and had assured him that the population was growing all the time.

  Sharpesburg appeared to be a small town with a few farmers and a blacksmith. Ahead he saw a sign that read Cathwell Glassworks. When he’d told Mrs. Mather he was going to ride around outside the city, she’d smiled and brought up Blessing’s family without his saying a word. He hadn’t appreciated her knowing look.

  He must be more careful in the future. Previously he’d been relatively unconcerned whether people knew of his interest in the widow or not. She was an engaging woman, but being linked with a woman who might do any unconventional thing at any moment didn’t recommend itself to him. He reminded himself that had a job now and was building his reputation in Cincinnati.

  Yet he’d found himself drawn here to the glassworks. Only to gain insight on how best to protect her from Smith, of course. . . . He paused in the open yard. Small purple flowers bloomed all around in the wild grass. He dismounted and secured his horse to the hitching rail. What could be more natural than to stop and ask for a glass of water?

  Gerard knocked on the door, and it opened before he could reconsider.

  He suffered a shock. Gaping, he recognized the young woman who peered around the doorframe. Though she’d changed for the better, this was the poor beaten girl he’d carried to Blessing’s carriage that night late last year.

  The girl exclaimed wordlessly and shut the door in his face.

  He stood there, vibrating with astonishment and still absorbing the fact that she was here.

  The door opened again. This time a tall, very striking woman gazed at him. “I’m sorry. Rebecca tells me that thee knows my daughter Blessing.”

  So much for his ruse. “Yes. I’m Gerard Ramsay.”

  “Ah. Welcome, Gerard Ramsay.” She said his name as if she already knew who he was. “I am Blessing’s mother, Honor Cathwell. Won’t thee come in?”

  What else could he do? He stepped inside.

  “Please warm thyself,” the lady invited, gesturing toward the cozy fireplace. “Spring is coming, but the ride from Cincinnati is still chilling.”

  Gerard obeyed her suggestion, warming his hands and face. He sat in what appeared to be the cabin’s largest space, a combined sitting room and dining room with a vaulted ceiling. Two doors at the far end no doubt led to bedrooms, and there was a loft over those chambers. He looked around, but Rebecca was nowhere in sight. “I hope I didn’t upset the girl.”

  “Rebecca is shy with everyone. She said both thee and Blessing helped her the night she left her former life.”

  Such honesty, and spoken as if taking in a prostitute were commonplace for the Cathwells. “Yes, I happened to be . . . there.” Now he’d admitted to being on the waterfront. Not a very respectable place.

  “What brings thee to Sharpesburg?” she asked, sitting down and picking up a man’s large plaid flannel shirt for mending.

  “Curiosity.” Why try to dissemble? This woman’s sharp gaze was astute and penetrating.

  She smiled. “Blessing has never mentioned thee. But Joanna told me about thee and how thee has helped my daughter. Thee protected the orphanage during the riot. I am grateful.”

  “Anyone would have done the same.”

  She knotted a thread and snipped it with small, silver-plated scissors. “We both know that isn’t true. Otherwise the riots wouldn’t have continued for three days unabated.”

  He was left with nothing to say. Or nothing he could bring himself to say.

  Honor Cathwell threaded her needle again and bowed her head over her work. “Please take a seat.”

  Once more he obeyed, then stared into the flickering fire, unsure how to begin, regretting that he’d come. Thoughts, memories of Blessing, played through his mind. Here was where he could discover what Smith knew, but he couldn’t bring that up out of the blue.

  Finally Honor finished stitching the shirt and looked up. “My daughter is a singular woman, so I understand thy being inquisitive about her family. But thee would do better merely to ask her the questions thee might have.”

  Her insight silenced him completely.

  The door opened. A woman of color entered without knocking, carrying a tray laden with food. Behind her came two white men, one who looked to be in his midthirties and one in his fifties. The latter was clearly Blessing’s father—the resemblance was plain. Both men also carried bowls of food covered with crisp white dishcloths.

  Honor rose. “I don’t know if my daughter mentioned it, but her father and her adopted cousin are both deaf. They can speak but can’t hear. We communicate with sign language.”

  Gerard tried to process this as he watched her agile fingers move quickly, greeting the men. She helped the woman set down her tray and distribute the bowls and platters across a large round table. Others, appearing to be more Cathwells, entered the room as well. Blessing’s brother and sisters?

  Honor introduced Gerard to the group in word and sign, then turned to him. “Thee will of course join us for our noon meal.” It wasn’t a request, merely a generous statement of fact.

  He nodded, unable to take his gaze from her fingers.

  The older man kissed Honor’s forehead and approached Gerard with an outstretched hand. “Welcome,” the man said in an odd voice. “I’m Samuel Cathwell, Blessing’s father.”

  Gerard pulled himself together and accepted the man’s hand. “Good day,” he said, raising his voice as if to be heard. In the same second he realized how ridiculous that was. Embarrassment scalded his face.

  The younger man also welcomed him in a similar voice. “I’m Caleb, Blessing’s adopted cousin.”

  Honor summoned Gerard to sit in the chair beside her. Blessing’s family and shy Rebecca gathered around the table. Samuel bowed his head and began to thank God in his unusual voice. In such a curious household, Gerard had half expected the woman of color to sit down with them, but she’d gone out with a cheery wave.

  When the prayer ended, Gerard contrasted his own family to Blessing’s unaffected and lively one. The two couldn’t have been more different. As the younger members of the family began questioning him about his life in Boston and Cincinnati, something inside him softened.

  Yet it was like being plunged into an interrogation, though not an unpleasant one because he understood its source. The younger Cathwells had a thirst for information about the world beyond this little bump in the road. And Blessing’s sisters asked questions as intelligent as their older brother’s. The food—sausages, corn bread, and a chunky sweet cabbage relish—was simple but excellent. He began to relax.

  Blessing looked out the carriage window and made a face. A strange horse was hitched in front of her parents’ home. “Friend,” she addressed the young woman hiding under her seat, “I’m afraid m
y parents have a visitor, so thee must stay hidden until I see who it is. In broad daylight I don’t dare move thee into the secret room in the glassworks.”

  “I’m fine,” the girl said in a tremulous voice, not sounding fine at all.

  The driver halted the carriage and opened the door to help Blessing out.

  “Just keep silent no matter what,” Blessing cautioned the girl as she stepped down. “Judson, please stay here. I’ll see if thee can drive the carriage into the barn so we can move her unseen. And I don’t know how long it will be.” Then she went to the door and entered the house.

  She stopped just inside, petrified. Gerard Ramsay was eating cherry pie with her family. Her mind whirled.

  “Blessing, what a sweet surprise,” her mother said. “My second today.” She smiled meaningfully. “Come in and shut the door, dear. Thee came just in time for dessert.”

  Just in time for disaster. Blessing’s thoughts went immediately to the runaway concealed in her carriage. She couldn’t move her till Ramsay had left or was distracted. The poor girl must be in pain curled up for so long. “Could Judson move my carriage into the barn?”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Honor said. “Thy father has a large order he’s been stacking there.”

  Blessing sent her mother a pleading look.

  Honor caught it. “But perhaps thy driver could park the carriage near the back barn door and unhitch the team there and let them graze.”

  “Miss Blessing!” Judson’s voice called out. The panic at its edge turned everyone’s heads. Blessing hurried to the door. She opened it and her stomach dropped.

  Slave catchers had arrived.

  She moved quickly to confront them as they climbed out of their wagon. “There’s no need to get down. Thee isn’t welcome here.”

  Her family, including Rebecca, filed out behind her. Yet she was most aware of the two hard-looking men in front of her and of Ramsay so nearby.

  One hitched up his belt, heading toward her carriage. “We’re chasing a gal that run away from her master last night.”

  “I hope thee is unsuccessful,” Blessing said, her parents and Ramsay drawing nearer to her.

  “We know you folk help runaways,” one catcher said.

  “How is that?” Honor asked. “None has ever been found here.”

  “We been paid—” one began.

  “Hush up,” the other interrupted. “We think you got a runaway in your carriage.”

  “In my carriage?” Blessing repeated. Her family and Ramsay formed a half circle around the carriage door.

  The second catcher pushed through. “Yeah, and we’re going to look—”

  “Does thee have a search warrant?” Blessing challenged, moving between them and her carriage.

  “Don’t need one to search a carriage,” the other one asserted, shoving his way through.

  “Thee is in error,” Honor said, taking a step forward.

  “That’s too bad,” one said. “We’re looking. The reward should be a hefty one for this girl. She’s supposed to be quite a looker. And you Quakers won’t do nothing to stop us.”

  Blessing’s mind raced. There must be nonviolent means by which she could drive these men away.

  Gerard watched this drama wordlessly, trying to figure out what was happening. But he didn’t have time for analysis. Blessing’s expression shouted, Help! He moved forward, placing himself directly between the two strangers and Blessing. Raising his fists, he said in a commanding voice, “I’m not a Quaker. Step away from the carriage.”

  One stranger chuckled in a nasty way; the other sidestepped him, pushed through the Cathwells, and opened the carriage door.

  Gerard yanked the man back and slammed a fist into his face. The man dropped like a weight. The other landed a glancing blow on Gerard’s ear.

  Gerard grabbed him around the waist, knocking him down.

  The man reared up. His fists pummeled Gerard, who answered blow with blow. Gerard had boxed at university, but this slave catcher appeared to have years of experience in street fighting and was practically on top of Gerard now. Gerard began to give ground, protect his head, hoping to land a blow that would—

  Then the man gasped and dropped to the grass.

  Gerard glanced up in confusion and saw the girl Rebecca standing behind the man with a long-handled wooden paddle in hand. She’d struck his head from behind. “I’m not a Quaker either,” she said.

  Her imposition galled him. But, too winded to speak, he stood and stared down at the two men.

  “Get the girl they want out of the carriage,” Honor ordered. “We must hide her safely before they regain consciousness.”

  Blessing surged forward and climbed over the two catchers and into the carriage. Before Gerard’s eyes, she let a girl out of a hidden compartment. Astonishment went through him in icy waves. Just as he’d feared, Blessing Brightman was involved with the Underground Railroad and evidently all of her family was too.

  The runaway cringed, whimpering and trembling. She was finely dressed, a very beautiful mulatta and so very young that he was horrified any man would make her his mistress, if indeed that’s what she was. It was indecent.

  The girl bolted, obviously terrified. She disappeared behind one of the cabins.

  Gerard bent over, gasping from exertion, trying to think what to do.

  “We need to get her away from here,” Blessing said. “These men will not listen to our objections. And someone else might come prepared with a search warrant.” She paused.

  “Thee’s right,” Honor agreed. “I should have thought of that.” She turned and rapidly signed to her husband, who nodded and started running toward the barn. Honor rested a hand on Gerard’s back. “Gerard Ramsay, what will we do with these slave catchers?”

  “What will we do?” he asked, still trying to regain his normal breath.

  “Yes, that’s what she asked,” Blessing snapped at his repetition.

  Their gazes connected, and he could see she was thinking the same thing he was—Smith. The men’s mention of being paid had been the clue, but perhaps a misleading one. The slave catchers might have been paid by the girl’s master, after all.

  “Gerard Ramsay, can thee handle these slave catchers?” Honor repeated.

  “I need rope. Quick.” He straightened. “I’ll tie them up. Drive them back to town in their own wagon.”

  Honor signed quick instructions to Caleb, who hurried off.

  “And what then?” Blessing demanded.

  “Turn them in to the sheriff for trying to search without a warrant and for attacking me when I tried to stop them. They’ve broken the law.” Just like you have, Blessing Brightman.

  “I’ll come with thee,” Blessing said.

  “No, you’ll stay here with your family,” Gerard ordered. “Who knows what . . .” He didn’t finish what he was thinking—what Smith might try next, especially if these are his men.

  Blessing didn’t argue but bit her lower lip, looking worried.

  Caleb appeared with a length of rope, and soon the two limp men were trussed up and lying in the bed of their own wagon. Gerard turned to say good-bye but halted. He’d never seen Blessing wring her hands. He stopped and claimed them. “Stay here.”

  “The orphanage,” she murmured, searching his eyes. “After thee has finished with these two, please visit and see that all is well. While I’m away, he might . . .”

  Gerard understood her. He squeezed her gloved hands, wanting to pull her close and reassure her within his embrace. “I will make sure everyone is safe.”

  Then he became aware that his hold on her hands was being noticed, so he dropped them and stepped backward. His bloodied knuckles stung from fighting, and a headache was beginning. But Gerard was momentarily unable to move, captured by the distress in Blessing’s expression.

  After securing Gerard’s hired horse to the rear of the wagon, Caleb called out, “Ready!”

  Gerard composed himself, thanked the Cathwells for their hospit
ality, and turned away from Blessing.

  “Thanks for helping,” Caleb said in that strange-sounding voice. Gerard shook his extended hand.

  Gerard climbed onto the wagon, turned it, and drove back toward the city. He was aware that a Cathwell Glassworks wagon had also left the property and was headed in the opposite direction, but he dismissed it from his mind. The less he knew, the better. By law he should have apprehended the runaway and compelled her to come with him to the nearest magistrate. But he would not, could not have done that, even if a magistrate had been standing in front of him. The girl’s youth and her obvious situation repulsed him.

  Within a mile, the men behind him began to wake, moaning. Caleb had gagged them, a touch Gerard appreciated. He wouldn’t have wanted to listen to them threatening and arguing all the way to Cincinnati. His mind stuttered over all that had happened, all that had been revealed within a few minutes’ time.

  Now he knew how Blessing had been able to spirit Smith’s mistress away; he knew why she had connections at a place like “number three.” No doubt Jewel had long since arrived somewhere in Canada. And maybe, in vengeance, Smith had hired those slave catchers to watch Blessing and follow her.

  Again he saw the terror-stricken face of the young runaway, imagined the helplessness of her position. Ire forced its way up his throat. His knuckles, cut and bruised, tingled. He only wished he could have dealt out more punishment to the two slave catchers. Blessing might have broken federal statute, but now so had he. And he didn’t regret it. God as his witness, he didn’t.

  Late that Saturday night, Gerard finally was able to leave the Cincinnati jail. Leading away the horse he’d hired for the day, he walked beside Alan Lewis, the lawyer Honor Cathwell had told him to consult if needed.

  The sheriff had been extremely reluctant to arrest the two slave catchers, who had been vociferous in their own defense. So Gerard had paid a boy on the street to take a message to Lewis. The lawyer had come right away and had insisted on the two catchers’ being charged with unlawful search and assault. Though muttering darkly, the sheriff had given way to the lawyer and jailed the catchers.