Blessing

by Lyn Cote

  “You’re right. No son is born hating his father. You know that. So I have to love you, and that means you can do whatever you want—is that it?”

  “My family in Manhattan is the only thing I’ve ever done just for myself,” Father snapped, looking resentful. “Ever since I was born, it’s always been all about doing my duty to the family, to the business, to society, to the church. I wanted a life of my own. And so I created one.”

  “Mother didn’t have that option. You held her fast. Why did you marry her if you didn’t want her?”

  The man glared at him. “My father insisted our family needed the infusion of capital that marrying Regina would bring.”

  “Did you even like my mother?”

  He shrugged. “I always gave her everything she wanted—”

  “Except for love and devotion.” Gerard didn’t know how much further he could go with this conversation. Each word scored his throat. “Then you tried to do the same thing with me. Tried to marry me to a banker’s daughter.”

  “I gave you plenty of time to fall in love with someone.” His father sounded aggrieved. “Your life was going nowhere. It was time you settled down.”

  Blessing’s face entered his consciousness, bringing with it feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge. “And if I said I’d fallen in love with a radical suffragist Quakeress, you would have welcomed her to the family?”

  His father sat up, looking alarmed. “What?” The words must have shaken him. Saul Ramsay had evidently learned nothing from this confrontation.

  Gerard rose. “Don’t worry. I doubt she’d have me anyway.”

  “Wait. What are you going to do? I can’t . . . The truth would kill Bella—and the children.” He flung up a hand. “They are blameless in this.”

  Gerard halted, his father’s words settling in him like concrete. He knew that Bella and her children didn’t deserve scandal and shame. He couldn’t hurt his father without making them suffer. And there was already too much suffering in this world and in this family.

  “When I visited them in Manhattan, I identified myself as Gerard Ramsay, a distant relative from Cincinnati. I shall contact them no more.” He paused to draw in fresh breath, suddenly exhausted. “Stoddard’s wife has miscarried and is still recovering. He needs me.” The way opened before Gerard. He wasn’t trapped here in this mire. “I’m going back to Cincinnati to live my life.” Gerard had no more words. He lifted a hand and walked out.

  As he picked up his gear in the foyer, he thought of Kennan. He must stop him from airing this scandal in public—of that he was sure. Gerard couldn’t see much of his way forward, but he knew Kennan was capable of anything. He’d proven that the night he’d drugged Gerard at Smith’s bidding.

  Gerard took a cab straight to Kennan’s family home and found his onetime friend still there. In the family garden, Kennan greeted him with a broad grin. “So what’s the plan?”

  “I’m going back to Cincinnati. And I don’t want to expose my father.” He tried to come up with an excuse. “It’s too soon after Mother’s parting. It would shame her memory.”

  Kennan’s grin faltered, his mouth drooping open. “What? You have him in your grasp at last. You can get anything from him. Anything.”

  “There is nothing I need from him. He doesn’t have anything I want.”

  “You don’t want the family fortune?”

  Gerard shrugged. “I have a life in Cincinnati, and I’ll find another occupation there. I’m not coming back east. I’m warning you not to make my father’s bigamy public nor to use it against him. Even though my mother’s dead, I don’t want people to know how Father disrespected her.” Though what leverage he had to stop Kennan, he didn’t know.

  Kennan’s jaws moved as if he were chewing wood. “I don’t get it.”

  Gerard gripped Kennan’s shoulders. “I am my own man. Not a puppet attached to my father and his wreck of a life. Kennan, you need to break free too.”

  “I am free.” Kennan jerked out of Gerard’s grasp. “I do what I want, when and where I want.”

  “Living in the bottle is what you want?”

  “Don’t preach to me,” Kennan growled, stepping backward.

  “We’ve been friends since we were boys. Do you think I want to see you go down to delirium tremens or early death?”

  Kennan took another step backward. “You’re not the Gerard Ramsay I knew.”

  “Thank heaven,” Gerard said, recognizing the truth. “Good-bye, Kennan. I wish you well.”

  “Go to hades.”

  “No, Cincinnati is far enough for me.”

  Kennan jeered wordlessly.

  Gerard walked out of the garden and hailed a cab. He could be home in a week if he left in the morning. A longing to be near Blessing once more worked in him like a magnet. He resisted its pull. That was the only danger in returning to Ohio.

  Commendable in many ways, Blessing was a woman devoted to causes, a woman who wouldn’t welcome marriage and its obligations—especially after a marriage that seemed to have caused her suffering. And she didn’t blink at breaking the law. In contrast, all he wanted now was peace. And Blessing Brightman was not a peaceable woman. Yet he was unsure what to do about this misguided attraction to her.

  MARCH 27, 1849

  The spring breeze played with Blessing’s gray bonnet ribbons. The middle-aged land agent, another Quaker, walked beside her through the open field decked with tender green leaves, grass, and wildflowers—tiny lavender and yellow violets, white trilliums, and bluebells. The world around rejoiced. Inside, she mourned. Gerard had been away for days now, but it felt like much longer. I can’t think of that.

  “This property is well drained by the creek at the back,” the land agent said, pointing toward the line of budding trees and shrubbery lining the small creek. “It’s on the Lebanon Road, but there’s enough land to set the orphanage and its grounds far back.”

  Blessing struggled to keep her mind on task, on the new orphanage. “It looks like a good place—plenty of room for the children.”

  “And there are no near neighbors.” He left unsaid that people usually didn’t want an orphanage in their vicinity.

  “Good.”

  “Thee is planning on closing the other orphanage in town?” he asked as they walked through the wild grass toward his open gig for the short ride back to town.

  “I will keep that house as a kind of receiving center for orphans,” she said, letting him hand her up into the gig with care. “And it’s convenient for other activities too.”

  He exchanged a glance with her. He was also involved in the Underground Railroad.

  “I am done looking,” she said. “I think this acreage will suit my purpose. Close to town but not right in town, and it’s large enough for now and the future.”

  “A good decision.” He climbed onto his seat in the gig. “I will make certain we get it at a reasonable price.”

  She thanked him and he slapped the reins, turning them back to town. She closed her eyes and tried to direct her thoughts away from Ramsay. He might not come back to Ohio. And even if he did, she would have no more to do with him on a personal level. He had become too important, too tempting. And she, too weak.

  APRIL 2, 1849

  Gerard rode beside the drayman from the riverfront to the bluff on this bright April morning. This was the third time he’d arrived in Cincinnati but the first time he felt as if he’d truly come home. A satisfying reaction. Yet he suffered from wanting what he couldn’t, shouldn’t have. Everywhere he turned at the docks, he saw the phantom of Blessing.

  He forced her from his mind and began planning. He needed to find a new position. He’d inherited his mother’s portion, the money settled on her in the marriage agreement between the two wealthy families, so he didn’t need funds, but he needed to occupy himself and to begin forging connections here, where he’d make his life. Nonetheless, what he’d left behind—his father’s duplicity and his uncertainty over Kennan’s discretion—
continued to plague him. How could he trust a man so often in a drunken state? He had no choice but to do so, however. Kennan would have little reason to blackmail Saul Ramsay—unlike Gerard, he was once again living comfortably off his family’s estimable resources. Gerard also doubted Kennan had the ambition for such a scheme.

  Gerard himself wanted a fresh start, not one tainted by extorting funds from his father. And he didn’t hate Bella, Lucille, or Jeremy; he wished them no harm. He’d suffered from his parents’ unhappy union. Why should more people suffer in the wake of Saul Ramsay’s selfish decisions?

  The drayman drove Gerard and his valises toward Mrs. Mather’s, rumbling over the uneven road. Imagining the widow Brightman on every corner was a torment. The thought of seeing her lifted him even as other memories of these streets pressed him down—catching Theodosia as she jumped from a window, testifying against the slave catchers in a biased courtroom. After these past few tumultuous months, he craved peace.

  And if he let it, time would gradually erase Blessing from his mind. He just needed to get busy, find employment, and begin cultivating a new life here. He would visit Stoddard today and ask him for possible leads on a new position. Surely Stoddard, with his connection to the Foster family, would be able to point him in the right direction.

  Later that day the maid Honoree let Gerard in at Stoddard and Tippy’s front door. He’d been eager to see his cousin and ascertain the state of Tippy’s health. But as he stepped inside the door, remembrance of the time he’d spent here with Blessing rushed through him. The hope that she’d be in the house tried to rise, but he cut it off. If she was here, he would leave as soon as possible.

  “Hello, Mr. Ramsay.” Honoree relieved him of his hat and gloves, and he deposited his cane in the umbrella stand by the door.

  “How is Mrs. Henry?”

  Honoree looked serious. “She is some better, sir. Will you wait in the rear parlor? I’ll go get Mr. Henry.”

  He entered the small parlor and stood, gazing out the window. Footsteps on the hardwood floor alerted him. He turned as his cousin entered.

  “Gerard.” Stoddard greeted him with outstretched hand.

  “Cousin.” Gerard clasped hands with the man, grateful for at least one friend and relative still true. “How’s your bride?”

  Looking haggard and disheveled in his shirtsleeves, Stoddard waved him to a chair. He let out a labored sigh as he sat across from Gerard. “It’s difficult.”

  “But she’s better, isn’t she?”

  Stoddard tried to look hopeful and failed, his features tensing. “Some, but her convalescence is slow. If it had just been a miscarriage, she’d be up by now. The doctor said the cholera has made her . . . weaker.”

  Gerard read the worry etched deeply into Stoddard’s face. “But she will recover?”

  His cousin bent forward, clasping and unclasping his fingers. “I hope so, eventually, unless some other contagion lays her low again.” Stoddard scrubbed his face with his hands. “She’s in low spirits too.”

  “I imagine she would be,” Gerard said with true sympathy. A young woman would take the loss of her first child hard, especially a caring person like Tippy.

  “I feel helpless,” Stoddard admitted, looking into Gerard’s eyes. Then he roused himself. “I’m sorry. I’m focusing on my own troubles. You just lost your mother. And I regret I wasn’t able to attend my aunt’s funeral.”

  The mention of this slid in like a blade. Gerard hoped his grief didn’t show. “She’s no longer in pain.” In so many ways.

  Stoddard nodded.

  Aunt Fran appeared at the door. “Gerard.” She held out both hands.

  He rose, claimed them, and drew her into the room.

  “I was so sorry I couldn’t go to Regina’s funeral,” Aunt Fran said.

  “You had more pressing obligations.” Gerard gently squeezed her hands to emphasize his point.

  Then Blessing stepped through the doorway. She wore one of her simple gray dresses and a white widow’s cap. Her plain attire only highlighted her warm brown hair and blue eyes. Her presence filled the room before she was even inside it.

  The sight of her shot through Gerard, bringing him fully alive. Fully wary. He forced himself not to move toward her, though his whole body felt the pull. “Widow Brightman,” he murmured with a formal bow of his head.

  She paused in the doorway, nodded to him, and then entered, looking away from him. “I require thy help, Stoddard. I think Tippy needs some fresh air and sunshine—must have some to begin to heal. She has argued with me but I’m ignoring her.”

  Aunt Fran, also in sober gray, nodded in vigorous agreement, making the ribbons of her own white widow’s cap bounce.

  Stoddard looked from one to the other.

  “I’ve asked Honoree to dress her in a housecoat and slippers,” Blessing said. “And I want thee to carry her into the garden, Stoddard.”

  Stoddard hesitated, looking uncertain.

  “Son, do what Mrs. Brightman says,” Aunt Fran urged. “Tippy does need sunshine and fresh air—not only for her body but for her mind. If she lies in that bed much longer, she will never be the same.”

  “Now,” Blessing instructed. “Please, Stoddard.”

  Gerard felt the strength of Blessing’s will and insight. She could be trusted to do only good for Tippy.

  Stoddard walked between the two women and up the stairs, and Gerard trailed after him in support.

  Tippy’s wan appearance dismayed Gerard. She’d lost too much weight and her skin looked pasty white.

  Tippy wept and begged, but Stoddard lifted her from bed and carried her down the stairs, ignoring her protests.

  Blessing and Aunt Fran had already gone out into the garden and prepared a high-backed wicker chair with cushions and a light blanket. Stoddard set his wife carefully onto the chair in the sun and pushed the matching footstool under her slippered feet.

  Gerard hung back while Aunt Fran and Blessing arranged the blanket over her and spoke soothingly to her.

  Tippy closed her eyes, moist with tears. She rested her head against the chair and trembled.

  “Tippy,” Blessing said, “the grief will remain, but spring is here and it’s time to begin again the task of living. Thee has a husband who needs thee. And family and friends who want thee well.”

  Tippy nodded, pressing her teeth down on her quivering lower lip.

  Aunt Fran sank into the chair beside her daughter-in-law. She patted Tippy’s hand, murmuring comforting words.

  Finally Tippy opened her eyes and held out her other hand toward Stoddard.

  He gripped it and drew it up for a kiss. “We’ll do,” he said simply.

  “Yes.” Tippy gazed at him.

  Aunt Fran rose. “I think it’s time I went home for a bit.” She led Blessing and Gerard back into the house.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Brightman,” Aunt Fran said inside. “I’ve tried to get her out of that bed for almost two weeks.”

  Blessing pressed her cheek against Aunt Fran’s. “I must go to the orphanage.”

  “I’ll walk you partway,” Gerard said, startling himself. He’d had no intention of being alone with her.

  Blessing stared at him.

  “Walk me home first, Gerard,” Aunt Fran said. “I’m going to sit in my garden and enjoy the sunshine too.”

  In the foyer the three of them donned their hats and gloves, and Gerard accompanied his aunt to her gate.

  “Don’t let this woman slip through your fingers,” Aunt Fran whispered to him there. “Your mother would have loved her.”

  He tried to ignore the irritation this comment provoked, which was directed more at himself than at his aunt.

  He caught up with Blessing, who had already begun walking. “I’m glad Tippy has you for a friend.” Even as he spoke the words, he wanted to kick himself. So much for avoiding the woman.

  “I’m glad Stoddard has thee as a friend as well as a cousin. I’m very sorry for thy loss.”

/>   So the two of them, who had faced down Smith together, were reduced to this, polite parlor conversation. “Thank you.”

  They walked in silence past the now-familiar houses on Stoddard’s street.

  She cleared her throat. “What is bothering thee? Thee looks as if thee is carrying the world on thy back.”

  Picturing his father’s second house in Manhattan, he shut his eyes and then opened them. “Something I must deal with myself.” He found he couldn’t confide it to her after all.

  Blessing repeated the words silently. “Something I must deal with myself.” Attraction to this man was definitely the something she must deal with herself.

  The two of them walked together as far as the street that led to Gerard’s boardinghouse.

  “I’ll leave you now,” he said.

  “Yes, good-bye.” She offered him her hand.

  He shook it and turned away.

  She watched him start back down the street. Good-bye, Gerard Ramsay. I’ll try to make certain we don’t run into each other again.

  APRIL 30, 1849

  On a balmy evening Gerard found himself in the familiar auditorium at Lane Seminary to hear Frederick Douglass. The crowded hall buzzed with voices. Gerard had argued with himself for days but had not been able to keep himself from attending tonight’s lecture.

  He did indeed want to hear the notable abolitionist, this courageous man who had run away from slavery and later earned enough to buy his freedom.

  Yet Gerard knew that in reality he’d come here to glimpse Blessing. Almost a month had passed since they’d seen each other at Stoddard’s. Gerard had kept himself busy and only called on his cousin when he knew the house would be without other visitors.

  Tonight he could at least see her, but in the protection of a crowd. He would make sure not to chance a private word.

  Except that the widow Brightman did not come.

  Settling back to listen anyway, Gerard found Douglass, a tall, imposing man, to be a spirited and interesting speaker. When the man said that a discussion of the rights of animals would be regarded with far more complacency than would be a discussion of the rights of women, Gerard gasped. And he wasn’t the only one in the audience.