Blessing (8 page)

Later, after returning to her own home, Blessing struck a match and lit a candle to guide her way to bed. Then she heard a quiet knock at her kitchen door. The very stealth of it galvanized Blessing. Candlestick in hand, she opened the door.

Two people slipped inside but remained in the shadows, away from any window. Blessing recognized one of her visitors, a young man from Joanna’s church, and with him was a petite black woman. Blessing didn’t need to ask why they’d come. Another runaway.

“All the other stations are being watched,” the young man said. “Can she hide here till it’s safe to move her?”

Blessing didn’t waste words. “Follow me.” She led the two swiftly up the stairs to the second story and into the attic. There she ran her hand across the wall until she found the catch that opened the secret door. She waved the woman inside. “I’ll bring up food and water soon.”

The runaway slave nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” She slumped, exhausted, onto the pallet along the wall, giving one last shudder of fear.

Blessing saw by candlelight the woman’s face—it was lovely. And then she understood why the other houses were being watched. She rarely hid slaves; her home was reserved as a last resort, thus making it safe for the most-wanted runaways. This woman was no doubt some master’s prized mistress, and he was willing to pay top dollar for her return—probably four to five times the usual bounty on an escaped slave.

“Thee’ll be safe here,” Blessing said, sickened by the woman’s plight, and shut the panel.

The young man pattered down the steps behind her and, back in the kitchen, peered out the dark window.

“Perhaps thee should stay too,” Blessing cautioned. “The watch might take thee up for being out at night.” Or he might be set upon by ruffians.

“That might be best,” he agreed.

She waved to the back door. “Thee can sleep with the driver over the carriage house. He has an extra bed.”

He nodded his thanks and hurried outside. She closed the door and sank onto a chair at the kitchen table, wearier than ever. Head in her hands, she felt all the evils in this world piling up around her. The face of Gerard Ramsay came again to her mind, and she couldn’t help the sudden indignation that welled up inside.

Did privileged Gerard Ramsay comprehend the realities of life? Babies were being born into poverty and worse. Women were living in bondage to procurers. Black men and
women were fleeing soul- and body-destroying shackles. And all he could think of was having a good time. If he were here, she would shake him till his teeth rattled.

She
would
warn Tippy not only about Stoddard’s appearance by the river, but that Ramsay was a bad influence on the man she wanted to marry. Resolved, she shoved away thoughts of Ramsay—a spoiled, probably dissolute gentleman—and prayed for the little baby with the whimsical expression who might not live through the night and the desperate runaway hiding in her attic. Spiriting her from the city unseen would be a challenge even for Blessing. The Lord would need to provide a way—Blessing couldn’t think of one.

SEPTEMBER 3, 1848

As church bells rang the next morning, Blessing walked toward the meetinghouse for First Day worship, troubled and feeling her lack of sleep. Did some slave catcher guess that a runaway might be hiding in her house? She had the sensation she was being watched, followed—an impression she had experienced often even as a child, since her parents’ home had frequently harbored runaways.

With effort she concealed her unease, especially resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. But whenever she heard a sound that would have naturally prompted her to turn around, she obeyed the urge. More than once she thought she glimpsed a man slipping out of sight. Hiding her anxiety, she met other Friends also on their way to meeting and
exchanged quiet greetings. Still, uppermost in her mind was how to smuggle away the runaway in her attic.

Blessing caught sight of her father helping her mother down from their wagon, and she hurried forward, her spirits lifting. Her parents did not drive into town for meeting every First Day. Maybe they could take the runaway home with them. Better to get the woman away quickly while the catchers kept vigil in the city.

She waited till her mother was standing beside her father before she greeted them, using both her voice and her fingers in sign language since her father was deaf. Grateful for the subtlety of the signs, she explained her need without speaking.

Both parents kissed her cheek in greeting but responded that their hidden room was already occupied and that their house was being watched by two slave catchers at the moment. Joanna’s parents, Judah and Royale, had stayed home on watch.

Mulling over this disappointing news, Blessing also greeted her younger sisters and brother, along with her honorary cousin, Caleb. They entered the meetinghouse as a family. When she looked around the quiet place, unadorned and plain, Blessing was comforted. All the long years of exile during her marriage—nearly six—she had missed this place of solace, missed being close to God and his people.

As Blessing followed her mother to the women’s side, she prayed silently. Where to take the runaway and how to smuggle her out unseen wouldn’t let go. She kept trying to give the problem to God—and then snatching it back.

Gerard Ramsay woke to the pealing of the Sunday church bells. He groaned and rolled over, pulling his soft pillows over his ears. He’d been careful not to drink enough to slur his speech or cause him to sway as he walked, but he’d imbibed more than he’d intended.

Guilt niggled at him and he pushed it away. He was not going to sink into the bottle like Kennan. And his evening had been productive: he’d gleaned many facts about racing in the Cincinnati area and had gotten the names of a few local bookmakers, men who could give him even more information about racing and the players and powers around here.

The Quakeress came to mind again, uninvited. The way she’d examined him at the docks and the way she’d looked at Stoddard. Perhaps he’d accomplished his goal already. If Blessing Brightman informed Miss Tippy Foster that her true love frequented the riverfront at night, that might be enough to break their romance in two.

Gerard closed his dry, gritty eyes and tried to go back to sleep in spite of the infernal bells calling the hypocrites, dressed in their Sunday best, to sit in the pews and judge each other.

Sitting on the same bench as her mother and her four sisters—Jamaica and Constance, both in their early twenties, and nine-year-old twins Patience and Faith—Blessing began centering herself, the traditional way Friends prepared themselves for worship.

Several years earlier, many Quakers had decided to adopt the ways of worship of other Christian churches, with a set program including music and a sermon. However, she and her parents were Hicksites and had kept to the old ways, still following the tradition of worship tuned to the Light of Christ.

She began to seek God’s peace. One by one, worries rushed over her like waves—Gerard Ramsay, Stoddard Henry and Tippy Foster, the poor woman who’d given her Luke last night, the baby’s thin body, and the frightened escaped slave hiding in her attic. She prayed over each one and tried to dismiss it from her mind, sending all of them to God. The tension she’d come in with began to ease.

All around her, the other Friends were doing the same. Or she supposed they were. What person could really know another’s thoughts? But that deep quiet of meeting began to settle over the large room. Even the children rested against their mothers or fathers. Although a few babies whimpered or fussed, their noise didn’t disturb the process of letting go of the world and entering God’s peace. Her worries continued to bob up and she continued handing them to Christ.

Across the room on the men’s side, her father, Samuel Cathwell, rose from his position beside her brother, John. This was a rare occurrence. Her father, who had been deaf since a childhood illness, did not speak often because his voice sounded odd and it embarrassed him. Blessing waited, filled with a special love for this quiet man.

Instead of speaking aloud, though, he began signing, and her mother interpreted the motions of his hands aloud for the congregation. “Sometimes I tremble for our nation,” she
said. “The scourge of slavery has cost many lives and will cost many more. A deep blindness, born of greed, has covered the Southern states. I long for God to find a way to end it without bloodshed. That is my prayer.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the meeting. Even those who didn’t approve of helping escaped slaves could agree, as no Friend wanted violence. Her father sat down. The stillness resumed except for the cries of one baby. His mother rose and left the meeting, murmuring to the child.

Blessing considered her father’s words and prayed in agreement for slavery to end soon and without violence. But how that could be done only God knew.

As much as Blessing longed to be centered within God’s peace, her mind began to disobey her again, bringing up scenes from the past months. Meeting Gerard Ramsay in Seneca Falls, dining with him at the Fosters’, bumping into him at the riverfront.
Stop,
she ordered herself. Then a plan began to form in her mind of how she might help two birds at risk with one stone. A sweet, devious smile curved her lips.

Gerard rose from bed long after breakfast had ended. Sitting on the side of his bed, he scrubbed his face with his hands, but that did nothing to alleviate the ache behind his eyes or the frustrations circling through his mind.

When Blessing Brightman had recognized him last night, the look she’d given him . . . Another meddling reformer who would tell him how to live his life and enumerate his sins. How could he disarm her? Spike her guns while he peeled Stoddard out of Miss Foster’s gloved mitts—assuming Blessing’s own
words didn’t do the job? A plan began to form in his mind. He chuckled. Military history class had taught him one thing, at least: always attack on the least-expected front.