Blessing

by Lyn Cote

  “I’m sorry to say that those two catchers will probably go free,” Lewis said now, finally penetrating Gerard’s mind.

  “But I can bring witnesses.”

  “And the jury will likely ignore their testimony. Have you forgotten the recent riots? The majority of people here don’t like slave catchers, but they really just want the runaway problem to disappear.”

  This view chafed Gerard, but he couldn’t fault this man for telling the truth. They shook hands and parted.

  Gerard stood a moment on the cool, dark street. Blessing had asked him to stop at the orphanage, but now he intended upon sleeping there. Anything could happen if it were left unguarded. First he’d stop at his rooming house to let Mrs. Mather know he’d be out for the night. He mounted the horse and started off.

  Mrs. Mather met him at the front door, her face creased in concern. “I’m glad thee is home. Stoddard sent a boy to fetch thee hours ago.”

  “What is it?”

  “His wife. They’ve called a doctor.”

  Gerard turned and hurried down the steps to his horse, heart racing.

  FEBRUARY 25, 1849

  Still unsettled by Saturday’s violent confrontation, Blessing returned to the city with her family to attend First Day meeting—nothing out of the ordinary that might even hint at wrongdoing. Obeying God instead of her own desires often frustrated her.

  After meeting, her family climbed into their wagon and followed her carriage to her own home in the city for the midday meal. Staring out the window at the familiar streets, she watched families dressed in their Sunday best walking home from church on this sunny, mild day, unaware of and unconcerned for the desperate lives passing through their city.

  And in another layer of unseen concern, she struggled over Gerard’s involvement in her illegal activities. As soon as they’d eaten dinner, she planned to send a message to Ramsay and find out what had happened to the slave catchers. To him.

  What would she say to him? Most people viewed the Underground Railroad with shock and disapproval. But he’d defended the runaway. However, had that just been the passion of the moment? He’d helped Rebecca too, though—much against his wont.

  As she led her family up her front steps, she chided herself. Just as well if he’s disapproving. This should erect a higher, firmer wall between us. Though that might be the sensible view, she found it hard to face.

  Salina opened the front door to them, her expression somber.

  Blessing inhaled sharply. “What is it?” Had Ramsay been hurt?

  “Your friend is bad.”

  “Gerard?”

  Salina shook her head. “No, Miss Tippy.”

  Blessing paused, her thoughts reeling. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shiloh sent word that sweet young gal lost her baby last night.”

  Blessing staggered. From behind, her father braced her. For a moment she couldn’t think, her heart lurching. “Tippy,” she whispered.

  “Salina,” Honor said, “I think a strong cup of coffee is needed.”

  Waving for them to follow her, Salina led Blessing and her family straight into the dining room; then she went on into the kitchen. Within minutes she returned, balancing a coffeepot, cups, sugar, and creamer on a tray. Blessing’s sister Jamaica hopped up and helped Salina set her burdens down and serve the coffee.

  “The cook got plenty of fixin’s and a couple of chickens roasting,” Salina said. “We thought you might bring your family here for Sunday dinner.”

  Blessing’s head began throbbing. She rubbed and stretched the muscles at the back of her neck to loosen them. “Mother, Father,” she said and signed, “I must go and see if there is anything I can do.”

  “Go on, dear.” Her mother patted her arm gently. “We’ll stay here, eat whatever thy cook has prepared for us, and then go on home. Don’t give us another thought. We’ll be praying for Tippy.”

  Blessing rose and hugged her parents in turn. She bid the rest of her family farewell and headed out the door. Salina had evidently assumed that Blessing would go to the Henrys’ once she heard the news. Judson was still out front, waiting for her.

  When she arrived at the Henry home, her courage nearly failed her. But she walked resolutely up to the door and was met by Honoree, Tippy’s housemaid and Shiloh’s sister. “How is she?” Blessing asked, shedding her bonnet and gloves in the foyer.

  “Bad. It’s not just that she miscarried,” Honoree replied in a low voice. “She was terrible sick before, and that’s what caused her to miscarry. The doctor thinks it might be cholera.”

  Cholera. The floor dropped out from beneath Blessing. She clutched the arm of the hall tree. Death usually claimed cholera’s victims.

  “The doctor isn’t letting just anybody in to see her, and no one is supposed to touch her. Her mother and father are away.” Honoree was wringing her hands in distress.

  Blessing rallied. “Has anyone sent for them?”

  Honoree nodded. “A messenger has been sent. But it’ll be days before they return from Kentucky.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “Come.” Honoree led her up the stairs to the second-floor landing. The door to a spare room stood open, and as she passed, Blessing glimpsed Stoddard sitting in a chair and holding his head in his hands in evident despair. Gerard sat on the seat adjacent to him, speaking in a low voice, his hand on Stoddard’s back.

  Blessing was grateful Gerard was present and comforting his cousin. But her whole concentration turned to Tippy. Honoree opened the master bedroom door and Blessing entered.

  On the canopied bed Tippy lay, pale and shrunken. Her mother-in-law, Fran, sat in a chair by the fireplace, her head bowed in obvious prayer. A familiar black-frocked doctor, one Blessing respected, stood at the end of the bed. They exchanged nods.

  “Don’t touch her,” he cautioned in a low voice.

  “How bad is the cholera?”

  “It’s a light case, I think. And Mr. Henry called me immediately, so I was able to start treatment of saline injections right away. But it’s a violent disease and has taken its toll. She lost the child about eight hours into it. She’s also lost a lot of blood.”

  Each sentence pounded Blessing’s already-throbbing head. Resisting the urge to take Tippy’s hand, she dropped to her knees by the bed and began praying for her friend to be spared. Father, Tippy’s found a good husband who respects her. Please let her live. Let them have many good years together. Then her mind drifted back to Gerard and Stoddard sitting together. Help Ramsay comfort his cousin.

  FEBRUARY 26, 1849

  About to leave his room for work on Monday morning, Gerard received a note from the lawyer Alan Lewis that the two slave catchers he’d brought in Saturday night were already scheduled to appear before a judge and Gerard must come to testify. A change of plans on top of everything else.

  He rubbed his gritty eyes. After staying very late at his cousin’s house, he’d barely slept. Tippy was still fighting for her life, and Gerard feared his cousin might lose her. He hadn’t realized how much he himself cared for Tippy, so endearing and pert, until now, when she might be wrenched from them.

  Sick in spirit, Gerard hurried to the courthouse downtown to do his part against the unscrupulous slave catchers. Never before in his life had he ever given any thought to such men. Now he was involved with two. He entered the walnut-paneled courtroom and found Lewis there, conferring with the city prosecutor.

  When Lewis joined Gerard on the bench behind the prosecutor, he didn’t look happy, either.

  “Why is this happening so quickly?” Gerard asked in a low voice.

  “The faster this transpires, the less notice it will get. That must be why the catchers have agreed to a bench trial instead of a jury. Tempers on both sides run high.”

  Leaning nearer to Gerard, he muttered, “The prosecutor is aware of the unpopularity of bringing this case to court. He doesn’t want to be seen as either pro–slave catcher or pro-abolitionist. If he and the judge cou
ld suppress this case, they would. But Blessing Brightman has too many powerful allies in the city and state, and everyone knows you come from Boston money and society.”

  Gerard digested this and felt like he was chewing glass. What did his family’s money and influence have to do with this? He also devoutly wished he didn’t have to be here. If he were going to miss work today, it should be to remain with Stoddard. But since Gerard was the one who’d insisted the men be charged, he had an obligation to testify.

  “Don’t expect much,” Lewis finished.

  Would these two go free? Was that possible? Gerard remembered how the slave catchers had jeered at Blessing and her family and broken the law without compunction. And the runaway—so young, miserable, and afraid. His jaw tightened.

  The bailiff announced the stout, black-robed judge as he entered, and the proceedings began.

  Gerard was called to the stand and sworn in.

  “You were the one who brought these two men in?” the well-dressed prosecutor asked in an accusatory tone.

  Gerard assented and then gave a succinct account of the men’s attempt to carry out an unlawful search and seizure.

  The judge addressed him in a scathing tone. “And you thought you were qualified to intervene?”

  “I think it’s the duty of every citizen to see that our constitutional protections are not violated, don’t you?” Gerard kept his voice even, respectful.

  “I’m asking the questions,” the judge snapped.

  Gerard stared at the man, letting his expression speak for him.

  “Was there a runaway slave present?” the judge asked.

  Gerard couldn’t bring himself to lie on the stand. “Yes, there was a very young girl—”

  “Why didn’t you take custody of the runaway?” the judge demanded. “It was your duty as a citizen to escort her to a magistrate.”

  “I know that. But after subduing these two men, I was winded and couldn’t take action. She got away before I could move.” Also the truth, mostly. Of course, he hadn’t tried very hard—or at all.

  The judge glared at him.

  The prosecutor frowned and looked unconvinced.

  The defense attorney let loose a sound of derision.

  Gerard wanted to punch a few more faces. But he kept his cool mask in place, unwilling to let them put him on trial. He waited in silence as if unconcerned. He watched the faces around him and guessed they were all trying to come up with a way to turn the charges onto him, make him the wrongdoer. But after a few strained minutes he was allowed to step down.

  The defense attorney did not put his clients on the stand but used a lot of legal jargon and gave the impression that the two catchers had gotten carried away in the performance of a lawful errand.

  The judge looked to the prosecutor, who did not object. Without further ado, the judge fined the two catchers ten dollars each and ended the trial with a bang of his gavel.

  Lewis led Gerard through the courtroom. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard glimpsed an unsettling figure in the back of the courtroom—a man with his hat pulled low so his face didn’t show. Recognition shivered through him. Smith? Why would he show up here?

  But Gerard didn’t miss a step as he followed Lewis into the foyer and down the stairs.

  Lewis paused at the bottom and grinned wryly. “Well, those two will probably be a bit more careful around Quakers with friends who know how to box.”

  Gerard nodded. “Do I owe you—?”

  Lewis raised a hand. “I’m old friends with the Cathwells. No charge.” The lawyer shook his hand and hurried away.

  Gerard scanned the steps and saw no sign of Smith. If it had been Smith, no doubt the man had wanted him to notice and to let Blessing know he had something to do with this situation. Gerard could scarcely step outside his home without encountering the long reach of Smith’s arm. The man’s involvement in Gerard’s affairs was nearing something he’d read about in a Boston newspaper, he realized.

  It had been the account of a husband who had become convinced his wife was cheating on him. The paper had called the man’s obsession an idée fixe. The man had ended up killing his wife and the next-door neighbor he suspected to be her lover. At the court case, many witnesses had testified to the innocence of the wife and her supposed lover, and the husband had descended into madness during the ordeal. He’d ended up in an asylum for the insane and later had been hanged.

  Had the loss of Smith’s mistress or something personal about Gerard or his family triggered Smith’s fanatical behavior? Not for the first time, Gerard regretted ever dabbling on the docks or meeting with Smith. His desire to invest in a racetrack merely to spite his father now seemed juvenile and unappealing. He’d thought he could deal with men like Smith and remain free of consequence. He had learned his lesson the hard way.

  But now he headed to work, hoping his boss would not be vexed at him for coming in late. Concern for Stoddard tightened around his lungs. Had Tippy survived the night?

  Gerard’s day had not gone as he wished—any of it. After court, he’d gone to his place of business but left soon afterward in an unbelieving huff—dismissed from employment. He’d then come directly to Stoddard’s house.

  Tippy’s life hung by a thread as fragile as a strand of a spider’s web. The doctor, Blessing, and Aunt Fran hovered near her bed. Stoddard paced the hall and paused occasionally to stare into the room. Gerard could think of nothing sensible to say, so he merely paced with Stoddard till, both exhausted, they were forced to sit down. Then Stoddard’s restlessness would rear up and they’d rise again and resume pacing. The only good thing he achieved on his cousin’s behalf was bullying Stoddard into eating and drinking periodically.

  And now, as evening fell and Gerard saw his aunt’s exhaustion, he persuaded her to go home to bed. In the near dark, he walked her and her maid across the street and promised to come and get her if she was needed. Aunt Fran hugged him, looking desperately sad and weary. He left the maid, Shiloh, helping his aunt up the stairs to bed.

  When he reentered Stoddard’s house, Blessing met him in the front hall. Her hair uncovered and slipping from its pins, she looked strained but steady. Smudges from many sleepless hours darkened the skin under her eyes. Worry lines etched her forehead, and he wanted to smooth them away.

  “Come to the kitchen, Ramsay,” she murmured. “I’ll fix us something to keep us going through the night. The doctor is resting in the spare room and Stoddard is sitting with Tippy.” She closed her eyes as if gathering strength. “I persuaded the doctor that the man must be allowed some time alone with his bride.”

  Before he loses her. The additional phrase came unbidden to Gerard’s mind, chilling him.

  Blessing took him through the still house to the kitchen. The housemaid sat at the table, asleep with her head cradled in her arms. Blessing pressed a warning finger to her lips and then efficiently and quietly made a pot of tea and filled a tray with fragrant pumpkin muffins and butter.

  She led him to the next room, a small breakfast nook. He lit the candles in sconces on the walls, and they sat down at the small table in the low, flickering light.

  “I would have awakened Honoree, but I was afraid she might not fall back to sleep,” Blessing murmured as if afraid of disturbing the solemn house. “She’s been up around the clock since Tippy fell ill.”

  Gerard stared into his cup of creamy tea. All the words he’d bottled up over the past two days bobbed to the surface, and the most immediate poured out. “The judge fined the slave catchers ten dollars apiece and chastised me for not bringing in the runaway.”

  She paused to sip her steaming tea. “What did thee expect in a city where only months ago the mayor encouraged race riots in order to drive free Negroes out?” Her reasonable tone grated on his raw nerves.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you and your family were involved with the Underground Railroad?” he accused, setting down his cup with a snap.

  The candlelight caught the shine of her ch
estnut hair. Blessing stared at him, then calmly sipped her tea again. “Have a muffin.”

  Her response, so totally divorced from all that had happened to him today, prodded his temper. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “I think it would be best if thee forgot the events of Saturday,” she said primly, cutting a muffin in two and releasing the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg. “Thee ventured into my life—without being invited—and thee must accept the consequences.”

  Consequences. Her cool response burned inside him. “If I’m remembering correctly, you insinuated yourself into my affairs first.” He knew he was being irrational, but the frustrations of the past two days goaded him.

  “Would thee have preferred I let Smith take over thy life? Own thee?” She pressed her index finger over the muffin crumbs in front of her, gathering them and slipping the finger into her mouth. Then she picked up her cup with a sigh.

  His ire leaped up another notch, probably because her point was more than valid. But a gentleman was supposed to come to the aid of any lady, not vice versa. And what rankled most was that he had invited Smith into his life, and in effect also back into Blessing’s. He licked his dry lips. “I think he was there today. In court.”

  She halted her cup in midair. “Smith was there? Does thee think he really paid those catchers to come and harass my parents?”

  “I don’t know. But I think the man is becoming unhinged. Have you ever heard of an idée fixe?”

  “No.”

  “It’s an aberration of the mind—a person becomes obsessed with something or someone.”

  She gazed at him and slowly lowered her cup to the saucer. “An interesting and unnerving idea. Is he ‘fixed’ on thee or me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe both.”

  She broke off a bit of muffin and buttered it thickly. “I told thee Smith wants to control people, and for some reason we don’t know, thee might have become a trap to him.”

  “A trap?”

  Chewing, she nodded but did not elaborate.

  “I don’t like turning around only to find him behind me.”