Blessing (9 page)

SEPTEMBER 4, 1848

The next morning Gerard drove up to Blessing Brightman’s impressive home and tied his rented horse and gig to the ornate iron hitching post shaped like a horse’s head. Sure of success, he ran lightly up the steps and knocked. Women were so easy to manipulate.

Before long he was waiting in her parlor.

The widow entered, not making much effort to conceal her unease or lack of pleasure at seeing him there. “Gerard Ramsay, what may I do for thee?” she challenged him.

“I think we started off on the wrong foot, Mrs. Brightman.” He crafted his most charming smile, the one he used on the wives of pompous men—wives he was trying to seduce. “I’ve hired a gig and would like you to show me Cincinnati and a little of the surrounding area. It will give us an opportunity to become better acquainted. Will you join me?” He said the last as a light dare. Would the woman come or demur?

She stared at him for a long moment and then did something he hadn’t expected: she chuckled. “What a kind invitation. I have a friend visiting me whom I was going to carry to her next destination, about six miles from here. I dreaded driving back alone.”

“A friend?” he stammered. He wanted to have Blessing to himself in order to ply her with flattery and pique her interest in him.

“So kind of you,” the widow went on, ignoring his question, moving toward the door. “We’ll be down in a trice. Thy gig is at the front?”

“Yes.” He watched her leave and regretted coming.

Within minutes he was helping both ladies onto the seat of the one-horse gig. The other woman, her face concealed by a close-brimmed, veiled hat, crowded them a bit on the seat, but he didn’t point this out. He’d offered and he was stuck.

Following the widow’s directions, he drove out of town in silence.

When the silence became heavy, Blessing asked, “So Stoddard Henry is thy cousin?”

“Yes. He’s the son of my father’s sister. We were at boarding school together.”

“How interesting. I received my education at home, and then, at fourteen, I was sent to a Friends’ school for girls in Pennsylvania for a few years. After graduation I taught school in Cincinnati—before my marriage.”

“Really?” He’d spoken to very few educated women—even fewer who had actually worked at a profession. Of course, teaching was one of only a handful of professions open to women, and typically to those who were unmarried and without funds. From her and from what Stoddard had told him, he extrapolated that the pretty teacher had charmed a wealthy man. “You married well, then?”

She laughed as if he’d told a joke. “Yes, I suppose thee would think so. Richard Brightman owned two breweries.”

He hadn’t expected her to admit this, so he stared momentarily. Again he wondered how a straitlaced Quakeress had agreed to marry to a brewer. “I see.”

She laughed again. “I doubt it. I sold the breweries upon my husband’s death and invested in other concerns.”

“It was unusual for you to inherit, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Steaming at her slightly mocking attitude toward him, Gerard drove on, trying to come up with a way to turn the conversation in the direction he’d planned for it to go. He’d come to charm the widow in order to bend her to his own purposes, and now a prim stranger—a silent chaperone—sat stiffly beside her, and Blessing was laughing at him in a way he didn’t understand. And didn’t like. How fast could he drive six miles?

But wait—surely he would have better odds with the woman once they were alone. And they would necessarily be alone on the way home. Perhaps he could delay their return so that she might be mildly compromised from being in his company alone after dark.

He brought up a fresh smile and began to quote poetry, a ploy he usually found successful in charming ladies.

Later that afternoon, after they reentered Cincinnati, Blessing relaxed. Except for the presence of Gerard Ramsay, so unexpected but so providential, everything had gone exactly to her plan. And the effectiveness of the runaway’s impromptu disguise: the veiled bonnet, along with a wig, gloves, and white rice face powder, was an extra precaution. His company had added zest to the whole experience. No one would suspect someone like Gerard Ramsay of helping a runaway. She suppressed glee at successfully using him as the means to her own end.

“You’re in a lighthearted mood,” Gerard said.

Since she was listening for it, she heard the tinge of irritation concealed in his words. “Yes, I am. It’s been such a lovely ride, doesn’t thee think? I’m so glad we had a nice breeze. I almost hate to return home.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my company,” the man had the nerve to say. “Perhaps we can take another ride soon. You still haven’t shown me around the city.”

Her house came into sight. “Thee strikes me as a man who can find his own way around, but I do thank thee for driving my friend to her next stopping point.”

He didn’t reply to this, merely pulled up the horse outside her home.

Before he could offer to help her down, Blessing slid off her seat and down the step. “Thank thee again.” She waved and was up the steps without waiting. She turned back for one more look and saw Ramsay staring at her. She couldn’t help herself—she grinned.

Letting herself in, she ran up the stairs to the attic. She caught Tippy sitting on a chair and reading a book by the small attic window. “Didn’t I caution thee to listen for someone entering the house and to take cover?”

“I heard the gig stop outside, and I know your step,” Tippy said, looking up from her book. “Did the disguise work? Did you get the runaway to the next station?”

“Yes.”

Tippy leaped to her feet. “And Mr. Gerard Ramsay of Boston never guessed that he was aiding and abetting a fugitive slave?”

“Yes!” And that seemed to be the signal for both of them to dissolve into laughter, an outburst of relief and triumph.

The arrival of the runaway had tabled Blessing’s plan to warn Tippy about Stoddard Henry—for now, at least. Instead, that morning she’d summoned Tippy with a note, asking her to come wearing a hat with a thick veil. After Tippy had arrived, Blessing had clothed the runaway in Tippy’s dress, hat, and gloves and had been preparing to drive off to a nearby small town where she knew of another station on the Underground Railroad, used only for high-risk escapes. And later Tippy would slip away home, dressed inconspicuously. But there was still the worry of being stopped—and if they were, Blessing would be hard put to conceal her companion’s identity, disguise or no.

Then Gerard Ramsay had arrived, and Blessing had sensed immediately that the man from Boston had come to charm her. She was a young, wealthy widow, and this had been tried before. In the moment, though, he met her needs exactly. What could be more natural than a couple and their friend driving along the road together? Even if they were stopped, Gerard would naturally be the one to answer any questions. She smiled to herself. Gerard was indeed a very handsome man of considerable means, and no doubt accustomed to easily ensnaring gullible women.
Well, Gerard Ramsay of Boston, I’m not gullible. In fact, I gulled thee today.

S
OON
T
IPPY, IN DISGUISE AS
B
LESSING,
was headed for home in Blessing’s carriage. Weary, Blessing had just sat down to tea in the back parlor when her housekeeper announced that Mr. Stoddard Henry was in the front hall asking to see her. The accepted hours for social calling had passed, and her housekeeper, Salina, looked peeved.

Salina handed her his card. “He been here twice already today,” the woman said in her laconic way. Salina’s father had been a runaway slave; he’d been taken in by the Wyandot, who had still roamed Ohio thirty years ago. He’d married into the tribe, and Salina’s features showed the blending of the two races. In her early thirties, Salina was tall and trim with high cheekbones. Most of all, she was imposing and a good gatekeeper.

Blessing sighed with fatigue. Presumably Stoddard was
worried she would tell Tippy about seeing him the other night. She gazed at the calling card in her hand, remembering the unpleasant incident. She rubbed her tired eyes and blinked to bring up moisture. After the long ride and the all-day tension, Blessing was in no mind to admit him.

Then with a shrug she relented for her sake as much as his. She would have no peace till she heard him out and could assess the truth about him for herself. Would he make the mistake of trying to charm her like Ramsay? “Show him in. But tell him I am about to leave for the orphanage and cannot give him long.”

At the back of her mind, little Luke Green hovered. Since the night she’d recovered him, she’d prayed for his health in between prayers for the runaway’s safety. Was little Luke better today or still failing? The thought of losing another child hitched her breath.

Stoddard entered and bowed.

“Please be seated, Stoddard Henry,” Blessing said but did not offer him tea. “What may I do for thee?”

Stoddard sat, then leaned forward. “I will not take up your time with idle chatter but will come directly to the point. Saturday night I went to the docks with my cousin, hoping to deter him and bring him away.”

The audacity of Gerard Ramsay’s demanding to know why she was at the riverfront still managed to rise up and aggravate her. She knew a handsome face could hide much—perhaps a wounded soul? Was that why he’d caught her attention? No, surely not.

Scrutinizing Stoddard, she sipped her tea. “Why does thee tell me this?”

Stoddard half smiled. “Because I know that my . . . that Miss Foster is very close to you. I don’t want you to report me to her before I’ve had a chance to speak with her myself.”

Blessing stiffened, though admittedly this had been her plan. “I am not usually a talebearer.”

He held up a restraining hand. “Pardon; I’m not expressing myself very well. And in this case you need not be. I plan to confess it to her, as I said. I have already been frank with Miss Foster about my previously careless lifestyle.”

Previously careless lifestyle? Blessing considered him. “When will thee tell her?”

“I’ve already tried. I was told she was here visiting you. That is one reason I came.”

“She was helping me with my work,” Blessing explained, letting him assume she meant the orphanage.

Now he pinned Blessing with an intense gaze. “I have been shown a different way of thinking, of living, and I am no longer the man I was a few months ago. In fact, I had become disenchanted with the society life before I met Tip . . . Miss Foster.”

Blessing listened to this speech in silence. It could be true, but it could be a confession meant to disarm her. Dramatically admitting to faults was another ploy that had been used on her by her own husband. Only time would tell if his words were authentic. Richard’s hadn’t been.

She chose to reply obliquely. “Xantippe Foster is one of the most intelligent, refreshing, and honest young women I have ever met. Her friendship means a great deal to me.”

“I know.” He did not remove his gaze from her.

She couldn’t let her friend be fooled by a handsome face
that might easily hide a dark heart. “I would do anything in my power to persuade her not to notice a man I thought was unworthy of her.” After a day of dissembling, speaking the truth was liberating.

A pause ensued. Blessing nibbled a slice of fruited cake to gather strength. The tall clock in the hallway ticked loudly in the silence. A wagon rumbled by outside.

“I’m glad Miss Foster has a friend as true as you are,” Stoddard replied. “I would ask you one question. Have you ever seen me at the wharf before Saturday night?”

Blessing set down her empty cup in its saucer. “No, I have not. But I did see thee then—”

“Not for long. And not again.”

Blessing had no more time for this. Worry for Luke goaded her. She rose. “I will consider what thee has told me, Stoddard Henry. Now I must go to the orphanage and check on the infant rescued most recently.”

He stood also. “I won’t keep you, but please believe me. My intentions toward Miss Foster are honorable, and I would do only good by her.”

Unconvinced, Blessing offered him her hand and then, with a bow, he left.