Blessing (21 page)

“Don’t,” Jewel begged, lifting a hand for mercy. “Please.”

Blessing stared at the woman, pity coursing through her. “Does thee want to be free of him?”

“I’ll never be free of him.” Jewel’s voice was laced with bitter defeat. “Never.”

“I have thought of a way. In fact, I have it all planned. I hoped someday I’d be able to reach out to thee, help thee.”

Jewel stared at her. “Why would you care about what happens to me?”

Prudence sank into a dining chair, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Ramsay remained standing beside Jewel, studying Blessing.

“Why would you want to help me?” Jewel repeated, each word desperate to comprehend.

“Because no woman should be under his control.” Blessing’s voice shook with vehemence. “I know many poor women are, but thee is in the worst position of all. Does thee want to be free of him? I can make it happen. Tonight.”

Jewel stared at her, consternation wrinkling her forehead. She chewed her lower lip. “You can’t.”

“Not alone, but I know a way.” Her voice had found its steadiness again. “I can do it. Will thee take this opportunity? Does thee want thy freedom? To save thy child?”

“What do I have to do?” Jewel asked, still uncertain.

Blessing turned to Prudence. “Does thee have some old clothing that we can use for this woman?”

The landlady goggled at her.

“We must move quickly. Please, Prudence. This woman’s soul and the life of her child are at stake.”

Prudence leaped to her feet and hurried from the room.

“You still haven’t told me what your plan is,” Jewel objected, looking dazed but leery.

“I have a way to smuggle thee far away, and I have someone there who will take thee in.”

“Why are you doing this?” the woman asked for a third time.

Ramsay echoed the words inwardly. He tried to sort through all the widow had revealed. Regret writhed inside him. Smith must have tried to use Kennan to get him thrown out of this house, and now he’d sent this woman with her false accusation against him, once more attempting to get him blacklisted from respectable society. In associating with Smith, he’d sown the wind and now the whirlwind had come to claim him. Except Blessing Brightman was interceding once again. And again he
was struck by her clarity and fearlessness, this woman who did not dishonor the faith she claimed. An anomaly.

Prudence returned with Quaker garb over her arm. “It’s a bit wrinkled but clean. I was going to send a box of clothing to our mission in the Indian Territory.”

Blessing grasped Jewel’s beringed hand. “This is thy chance. Thee may never get another. Will thee trust me?”

Jewel rose. “I’ve heard stories about you. If anybody can get me away from him, you can. I’ll try.” She pressed a hand over her rounded abdomen. “I can’t bear it—” She choked on the rest of the sentence.

Blessing looked to Gerard. “Ramsay, please step into the hall. Prudence, help me get her into this outfit.”

Within minutes, Ramsay reentered the room and found Jewel had been transformed from a lavishly dressed woman of the night to a prim and proper Quakeress, wrapped in a gray shawl.

“Prudence, burn these clothes immediately.” As Blessing spoke, she tied all the jewelry Jewel had been wearing into a white handkerchief and tucked it into the woman’s pocket. “We must leave no trace that Jewel has changed clothing here. I doubt anyone will come asking for her, but if they do, tell them thee threw the hussy out the back door.”

Blessing took Jewel’s hand and led her swiftly toward the kitchen.

Ramsay rushed after them. “I’m coming too.”

“Thee will only be in the way,” Blessing said over her shoulder.

“I’m coming with or without your approval.” He kept pace with her.

At the back door, she turned, glaring at him. “My carriage is two blocks away from here, waiting for me. The minute we reach it, we will leave the city.”

“I’m coming,” he insisted grimly. He couldn’t let her go with no protection.

“Very well. Pull thy coat together and turn up the collar so the white shirt doesn’t catch the light. Thee must move like a shadow. Does thee understand? Both of thee? No one must notice us.”

He nodded grudgingly, reached around her, and opened the door. “After you.”

Blessing stepped out first and paused, glancing around, obviously listening. Then she waved for them to follow. The three moved in a line: the widow, the mistress, and Gerard bringing up the rear. He was grateful for the clouds passing over the moon. Soon he was helping the two women into the carriage.

Pausing on the step, Blessing spoke quietly to the driver. “Number three,” she said. “Quickly but without seeming to hurry.”

As soon as Gerard closed the door, the carriage took off at a sedate pace. The driver was evidently accustomed to clandestine activities.

“The veiled moonlight should be just enough to travel by yet not enough to make our movements easy to detect.” Blessing sat back as if at ease.

The woman next to her wrung her hands, moaning occasionally and trying to blend into the shadows and the carriage upholstery.

Gerard sat across from them, his hands clasped in strain.
He had many questions, but he would save them till they were out of town. He presumed that’s where “number three” was located . . . whatever that signified.

Far into the night, the carriage—which, after leaving the city streets, had been moving at a snail’s pace over the rough road—finally rolled to a halt. Gerard peered out into the darkness and by moon and faint starlight glimpsed a lone house and barn.

“Ma’am, we’re here,” the driver said in a low voice.

Blessing leaned forward to open the door.

Gerard moved in front of her, barring her way with his arm. “Where are we?”

“I want to know that too,” Jewel said, her voice shaking and tear-filled.

“We are at a safe place, Jewel. Ramsay, thee must stay here.”

“I’m not staying in the carriage.”

“Thee is an outsider. Thee won’t be allowed in without my say-so.”

He stared at her in the low light. He wanted to argue, but Jewel looked ready to faint with anxiety. “Very well,” he agreed grudgingly. “But I will expect an accounting.”

“Thee may get one . . . in time.”

The widow led the mistress, now dressed as just another Quaker, through the dark to rouse the sleeping house. He watched in amazement as the door opened well before he’d have predicted. The two vanished inside.

An explanation occurred to him and he wondered why he
hadn’t thought of it before. He had heard of the Underground Railroad. Could the widow be involved in that illegal activity? But the Railroad helped runaway slaves, not white mistresses.

Only a few minutes passed before the widow reappeared. After murmuring something to the driver about waiting, she rejoined Gerard in the carriage.

Her calm manner irked him. “What has happened?”

“I have spirited away Smith’s pregnant mistress and saved thee from the censure of society.”

Gerard stared at her, trying to make out her expression in the dim light. “And Smith is just going to let you? You’ve put yourself in grave danger, made yourself his target.”

She ignored his warning, glancing out the window of the still-motionless carriage as if expecting something or someone. “He already considers me a foe. But he will never know that I had a part in this. I wish thee hadn’t insisted upon coming. Now we must get thee back to thy house unseen—”

He tried to interrupt, object.

But she continued without acknowledging him. “Smith will be looking for her, but if thee is at home in the morning and both thee and Prudence go about thy normal business, what can he do? And how would he connect me to Jewel’s leaving? He’s not aware that I know of her. That is why I already had a plan to put into action instantly. I am sure he will seek her, but he will not find her.”

Gerard threw his hands up. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“Does thee understand that Mr. Smith would do anything to ruin thee?” She kept looking out the window.

He followed her gaze. What was she waiting for? And why weren’t they moving? “Why? I didn’t use any of the investors on his list, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Yes, thee has succeeded in slipping through his fingers. And thee would have been a prize for him: a gentleman from Boston whom he could manipulate, demean, torment.” She paused as if holding in some strong emotion. “I told thee Smith lives to possess people, control people—especially those who are respectable. He wanted to see thy distinguished face rubbed into the filth of the gutter. He will still make attempts. Be on thy guard.”

Gerard recalled what the men at his dinner said about Blessing’s husband and his abrupt end. They’d suspected Blessing herself of doing away with her husband, but he was beginning to wonder whether they should have accused Smith instead.

Before he could reflect further, a shadow of movement near the house caught Gerard’s attention. From around the corner of the building, a man who’d evidently shoved his nightshirt into his pants sauntered toward the carriage. He was leading a saddled horse.

Blessing pushed open the door and waved for Gerard to exit. “Take this horse. When thee reaches the edge of town, watch for a livery named Woolsey’s—”

“No livery will be open in the middle—”

She spoke over his objection. “Go to the back door and knock three times, hard. When the door opens, give my name. They will take the horse. Then thee must walk home without being seen.”

He tried to interrupt. This couldn’t be happening.
She expected him to sneak back into town and leave her undefended? He wasn’t a coward. “I will not—”

“Thee must be at home before dawn and go innocently about thy business. I doubt Smith will come to thee, but he will certainly have many people on the watch, so thee must be clever.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Gerard,” she said, gripping his hands, “trust me. I will explain all in time. Two lives are depending on us, on our discretion, our ability to carry out this ruse. Trust me. Go. I beg thee.”

The pleading in her voice silenced him. He held on to her, trying to make sense of this. Giving in, he squeezed her small, gloved hands in agreement and stepped into the night, ready to ride. “Where are you staying the night?”

“I have family near here. I’ll be safe. Don’t go near my house or orphanage for a time, please. Smith must not have cause to connect me to this event. Or I will be in danger more than I already am.”

Gerard still wanted to argue, but he realized the widow was not going to take no for an answer. He must trust her. As he spoke quietly to the owner of the horse, preparing to mount, the carriage headed away.

On the lonely, chilly ride home, he went over the events of this extraordinary evening. Something about the place where they had left Smith’s mistress stirred his memory. He’d been there before—or thought he had. Was this the same house they’d come to that September day when he’d driven her and a friend out of the city? Could that “friend” have been more than she appeared? Another prostitute? An escaped slave? He
looked back on that day and his motive for taking Blessing Brightman for a drive. It seemed to be from another life. Could it be merely weeks ago?

OCTOBER 21, 1848

The next night, Gerard woke in pitch blackness. He lay listening and tried to figure out what had wakened him. Some noise? He strained to hear, feeling fatigue from lack of sleep. After leaving the borrowed horse at the designated livery, he’d reached home on foot in yesterday’s dark, early morning hours. Exhausted but keyed up, he hadn’t bothered to try to nap.

Due to the recent strange events, Gerard had been watchful all day, expecting some backlash. He didn’t think the widow had yet returned to the city. But he’d followed her advice and had gone about what he thought was his usual routine for the day—going to various businessmen and discussing employment—steering clear of any tie to the Quaker widow. His landlady had exchanged a few strained and questioning glances with him, but she also had attempted normalcy. Wary still and prepared for anything, he’d gone to bed in his shirt and pants when evening arrived at last.