by Lyn Cote
She turned the conversation toward Ramsay. “Now we know why Smith hated thee in particular.”
“I was listening outside, hoping the night watch would come. I heard everything. He indeed wanted to destroy me. And you’re the one who stopped him. Where would I be if you had not deterred his plans?”
Blessing wouldn’t respond to that. It would only bring them closer. “Sometimes the evil in this world weighs me down,” she said, redirecting the conversation and trying to keep her feelings hidden, difficult though it was. Witnessing Smith’s suicide had stripped away her outer shell. She must be wary.
“What can I do to help you? You shouldn’t have been subjected to this dreadful incident.”
His words were exactly what a gentleman was expected to say to a lady who’d witnessed something unpleasant. Of course, Smith’s suicide was far from merely unpleasant. But Ramsay’s falling back onto propriety somehow steadied her. She gazed at him, pulling up her reserves. I am not a sheltered lady.
She looked him in the eye. “Thee forgets that I am the woman who walks the docks at night, trying to find those who can still be rescued.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve seen violent death before. Sadly.”
“I wish that weren’t true. But I know I can’t change you.”
His final words endangered her resistance to him most of all. Of all the men she’d known, this one understood her the best, better than Richard ever had.
Again she averted the discussion from herself. “So Smith’s idée fixe didn’t start when thee arrived in Cincinnati. He’d envied thee long before that.”
Gerard snorted. “Appearances can be so deceiving. Smith never met my father. I may be his legitimate heir, but my father has never loved me.”
The stark words saddened her. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve always been fortunate in my parents.”
He nodded in the low light.
She needed him to go before she had another weak moment. “Ramsay, I really don’t want to talk more.”
“Would you like me just to sit with you? We don’t need to talk.”
She tried to say she didn’t require his presence, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell an outright lie. “Yes, thee may stay and sit.”
He assented.
She found she couldn’t send him away. His nearness was calming her, stabilizing her. “Please stay till I can go up to bed.”
“Very well.”
The firelight flickered on the rose-papered walls. The silence of deep night settled over them. Though Blessing relaxed in Ramsay’s comforting presence, she prayed she would have the strength to resist her feelings for him.
No one must know the truth about the guilt she carried and would never be free of, least of all this man who was becoming so much more than she could have thought possible at their first meeting.
MAY 1, 1849
Reports of Smith’s suicide hit the streets in the newspaper Extras the next morning. Any doubt that Mr. Smith had held notorious sway over many men could no longer be denied, and death by his own hand made for a sensational story. Newspaper reporters, notebooks in hand, gathered around Mrs. Mather’s front door, asking for Gerard.
After a hastily eaten breakfast, Gerard faced them on the front porch and gave a succinct and guarded statement about Smith and his death. They clamored with questions. He answered a few and then asked them to leave. There was nothing more to say.
The raucous and insistent newspapermen refused to leave, perhaps scenting much more gore or drama for their columns. Finally the watchmen, prompted by complaints from the neighbors, had to disperse them. Gerard, inside the front door, faced Mrs. Mather. “I’m sorry. I seem to always be your most troublesome boarder.”
She ignored his apology. “Thee had best go quickly to Blessing’s home. I’m sure they are harassing her too.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“No doubt because thee mistakenly thought that those men wouldn’t bother a lady,” Mrs. Mather replied with a touch of sarcasm. “Mary and I will stay in today and lock the doors and pull down the shades. That should keep unwanted reporters away.”
He grinned. “You’re a Trojan, Mrs. Mather.”
She blushed. “Go and protect Blessing from those vultures.”
Gerard donned his coat, hat, and gloves and, gripping his cane, headed to Blessing’s house. From a discreet distance, he found it shut up tight with the curtains drawn. Without calling attention to himself, he made his way to the orphanage instead.
There he found a guard standing at each gate and door—large men of color and a few white men dressed in Quaker attire. One of the former recognized Gerard, and he was allowed inside.
Blessing sat in the parlor with several noisy and lively children playing around her. She looked much more relaxed than he had expected.
Scotty immediately accosted Gerard. “Mister, something bad happened last night.”
Gerard stooped down and looked Scotty in the eye. “I know, but you’re safe today. No one is going to do anything bad again.”
Scotty leaned against him, and Gerard patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Now why don’t you go play jacks?”
The child pressed closer to him.
Gerard gave in. He swept the boy up into his arms, picked his way through the children playing on the parlor rug, and set Scotty on his lap as he sat across from Blessing.
He almost asked if she was doing well, but that sounded insipid. “I’m glad to see you this morning,” he substituted.
She smiled but didn’t reply.
And that was how the remainder of his visit proceeded. Blessing had erected a wall around herself and wouldn’t let him in. Finally he set Scotty down and bid her a polite good day.
As he left, Gerard couldn’t figure out if he’d done something to offend her or if she was still suffering some form of shock. He recalled holding her last night and realized that he longed to embrace Blessing again to comfort her—and perhaps comfort himself.
After leaving the orphanage, Gerard didn’t know where he was going until he reached Stoddard’s house. He knocked on the door, choosing not to analyze his motives. Stoddard was probably at work already in any case.
Honoree answered. “Oh, sir, I am that glad to greet you. Miss Tippy is worried about you and Miss Blessing. Mr. Henry left for work before we saw that story in Extras about what happened last night. Is Miss Blessing all right?”
“I just visited her at the orphanage. She is doing well.” He realized he’d come seeking comfort but now would be providing news and solace to Tippy and her household.
Honoree did not look convinced. “Did you want to see Miss Tippy?” Her simple request concealed the real message, a plea for him to console Tippy with information.
Then Tippy’s voice floated down the hallway. “Gerard, please come and visit me.”
Gerard could not say no to Stoddard’s beloved, who was still recovering. He let Honoree relieve him of his accoutrements, and she led him to the garden off the rear parlor.
Tippy sat in the same white wicker chair as usual, but she appeared much better than she had the day Stoddard had carried her here against her wishes.
Gerard was moved to kiss her proffered hand in welcome. “I am glad to see you looking so much healthier.”
Tippy smiled. “Do sit. Honoree, bring him some refreshment, please.”
Gerard sat in the chair adjacent to Tippy’s, glancing at the fresh greenery and flowers everywhere. “Your garden is beginning to thrive.”
“I have started digging in the dirt,” she said with a laugh. “It’s good for the plants and for me. Now, what is this I read about that man Smith?”
Gerard did not want to tell her, but she’d find out soon enough anyway. He gave her a brief report of events without embellishment.
Tippy stared at the house next door over his shoulder. “You care for Blessing, don’t you?”
He hadn’t expected this question and didn’t reply.
“She cares fo
r you, too,” Tippy continued.
He still kept silent.
“Since she lost Richard, I’ve not seen her drawn to any man as she’s been drawn to you. Blessing is one of the most special people I’ve ever known.” Tippy looked into his eyes. “If you let her slip away from you, you will regret it.”
The truth of her words settled over him and then sank in like a gentle rain on soft earth. “I don’t want to let her go,” he admitted. “But she has been pushing me away.”
Tippy glanced downward. A woodpecker nearby was pounding his beak into a tree. “She never speaks of her husband. But it was not a happy marriage.” Tippy looked to him again. “After her period of mourning ended, many men fixed their interest on her, but she never gave anyone a second look. Till you came.”
“You hold a grudge against me for your late husband.” The words Smith had taunted Blessing with came back.
“What kind of man was her husband?”
“He inherited two breweries and much valuable land from his father when he was only twenty-two. He was very handsome and charming.”
“But what kind of man was he?” Gerard repeated.
Tippy almost lowered her gaze again but lifted her chin instead. “I never liked Richard Brightman. I think he was drawn to Blessing because she was his complete opposite. He was weak and she was strong. Perhaps he thought she could save him from himself.”
Tippy’s blunt assessment set Gerard back on his heels. A woman like Blessing married to a man who was weak? A wealthy young man perhaps more foolish than Gerard had been before he’d met Blessing. He recalled that Smith had completely ensnared the man. “No wonder,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Nothing.” But in his mind he completed the thought. No wonder Blessing fought to keep me from Smith. He fell silent.
Tippy closed her eyes as if fatigued by the conversation.
Gerard listened to wheels and footsteps passing on the street and the chirp of baby frogs in the garden pond. A blue jay chided them from a nearby tree. Gerard found himself equally agitated and exhausted by the events of the previous night. And the truth about his father’s duplicity intruded, reminding him of the sad loss of his mother. So much pain, one thing on top of the next.
Before cool gloom could drag him down, he pulled himself together. “What should I do?”
Tippy opened her eyes and blinked. “Do you love her?”
Her words galvanized him. He didn’t need to answer the question. “Thank you.” He rose and impetuously kissed her forehead. “Get better. Stoddard needs you.”
“No more than I need him.”
Gerard lifted his hand in wordless farewell and started out, still trying to come to a plan, a course of action. At least he knew what he had to do about Blessing. Words must be said.
After a day spent in the company of her orphans, Blessing felt more like herself. She waved good-bye to Adela and walked through the back garden to her carriage. She would never have to worry about Smith again, and her work at the docks could commence once more. She should have felt relieved, but she didn’t. Though she continually shuttered her mind against Gerard Ramsay, he still managed to remain with her always.
Judson opened the carriage door for her and helped her inside. Blessing sat back and found herself facing Ramsay. She gasped.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “But I wanted to make sure you got home safely. Reporters are still lurking.”
“My driver would have taken care of that.” Her words came out sharply.
“He needs to be busy with the team. Don’t worry. I know you’re tired. I’m just seeing you home.”
What could she say to that? She could hardly order him from the carriage.
They rode in silence. Unfortunately he was correct. When the carriage pulled up to her gate, reporters loitered there.
“Allow me,” Ramsay said as he opened the door and stepped outside. Brandishing his cane, he shooed away the reporters, guided her through the gate, and shut it behind them.
She tried to come up with a polite way to send him home. But she could not think of anything that wasn’t rude or unappreciative.
Salina met them at the door. “I’m glad to see you brought her home safe, Mr. Ramsay. I’ll bring tea to the rear parlor for you two.”
Never had Blessing wanted to shake Salina before, but she did now. She sent her housekeeper a severe glance. Then she walked into the foyer and left her bonnet and gloves there. Ramsay did the same with his own trappings and followed her into the rear parlor. She sat down and allowed Salina to bring in the tray with the teapot, sandwiches, and small cakes. She would let the man take tea with her, then bid him good evening.
Blessing poured a cup for each of them and passed his over.
He accepted the cup but just held it in his hand, gazing at her. “Blessing, I love you.”
His words, spoken so calmly and plainly, took her unaware. She opened her lips but shut them before she could say anything that might lead him on.
In the silence she heard a frantic dog barking outside the open window. The sound echoed her own turmoil at his declaration.
“I have tried to deny this for weeks,” he continued in a voice as relaxed as if he were discussing the weather. “I have never sought to fall in love or to marry. You’re not at all the kind of woman who will make for an easy life. Your ideas are radical. You break the law. You live dangerously.” He lifted one hand in surrender. “But I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Still she kept her lips pressed together and stared out the window over his shoulder. A red squirrel alighted on a nearby branch, making it quiver. Moments passed.
“Blessing, I have just declared my love for you. You must have some reaction.”
“I cannot marry thee.”
“Why?”
“Thee is not a Quaker. I would be put out of the meeting again. I cannot face that.”
“I—”
“If I marry again, I would lose all my legal rights,” she said, forestalling his reply. “I cannot do that again either.”
“I—”
“If I married, my husband and perhaps children would become my focus, not the work I want to accomplish. I would lose everything—my independence, myself.”
He gazed at her. “I hadn’t thought of any of those matters.” He took a sip of his hot tea as if considering her words. “I’m not going to give up.”
“I will not change my mind,” she said and paused to sip her tea as well. Her explanations bolstered her resolve. Everything she’d said was true. “If I were to marry, I would have everything to lose. I will not lose again.”
“Can you say that you have no feelings for me?”
She looked away, unwilling to answer him. What does it matter if I have feelings for thee?
Again silence fell. She chafed in it and wished he would leave.
But he merely drank his tea and began nibbling at the refreshments. “Tell me about your afternoon. How are the children?”
His persistence exasperated her. “Does thee care? Really care?”
“Yes, I do care about the children. Please, inform me.”
He had given up the previous train of conversation, and she was relieved. Yet she wished she weren’t caught between wanting him to stay and wanting him to leave her life altogether. Ramsay, how am I going to convince thee I cannot afford to love thee?
MAY 10, 1849
“I’m glad you came, Gerard.” His aunt greeted him at her front door.
“Your note just said, ‘Please come soon.’ What is it, Aunt Fran?”
“I need to do some shopping and wanted an escort.”
Gerard stared at her. His aunt had summoned him to take her shopping?
“Shiloh!” Aunt Fran called over her shoulder. “I’m going out with my nephew on that errand we discussed.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Shiloh’s voice came from outside, through the open rear window. “I’m weeding the garden.”
“G
ood girl!” Aunt Fran tied on her bonnet, pulled on her gloves, and handed Gerard an oak basket.
He put the handle over one arm and offered her the other. Soon they were walking side by side toward the business district.
“I needed a walk, needed to do something other than visit Tippy and sit in my garden, stitching.” Her lower lip twisted down. “I had expected to be sewing many little gowns about now.” The last words were spoken stiffly, painfully.
Gerard did not want to talk about the lost grandbaby. “So what do you need at the stores?”
“Nothing. I need absolutely nothing, but Tippy heard of a new widow who has been left with five youngsters, and I want to take her a basket of food and see what else she might need. We’re not the only ones in the city who have lost loved ones this year.”
“Good grief, you’ve been influenced by—”
“By my lovely and caring daughter-in-law . . . and Blessing Brightman. Certainly. I just wish I’d left Boston immediately after my second husband died. I am free of the past at last.”
Gerard didn’t know how to respond to this.
“I have more in common with Blessing than you know. Your mother was the dutiful daughter and married the man her parents chose for her. I, on the other hand, fell in love with a fine but penniless man, a poet. We eloped.”
Gerard stopped midstep. “Eloped?”
“Yes. Shocking, isn’t it? It was all hushed up, of course. A Ramsay eloping? And my parents and older brother—your father—were so relieved that Stoddard wasn’t born until we’d been married over a year. They never managed to drag my first husband into the family business, but he got a respectable teaching job and was able to support me and our son. I always felt a bit guilty over your mother, though. If I’d married a wealthy man, maybe your father wouldn’t have been forced to marry Regina merely for what she brought with her.”
Gerard’s head swam. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you have been at loggerheads with your father since you were a child. Which I quite understand. Saul and I have also never seen eye to eye, but in his own way he has done his duty to me. To remove my young son from my second husband’s house where he was not welcome, Saul sent Stoddard off to school and enrolled you at the same time so he wouldn’t be alone.”
