Blessing (27 page)

Gerard wanted to ask her what the doctors had to say
about her decline but couldn’t bring the words to his lips. He also had not commented on the fact that she could no longer walk unassisted.

“Gerard,” she said weakly, “you are the only good thing I’ve done with my life, and your father has obstructed my efforts for you at every turn.” The comment came after a long interval of both of them staring into the flames in the rose marble hearth.

He could think of no reply, so he merely gazed at his mother, questioning.

“When she returned from Stoddard’s wedding, your aunt Frances visited me. She was so pleased with her son’s bride. I hear that while she is a pretty girl, her personality is what is most notable about her.”

“Tippy is a bright girl and very charming.”

“It seems she believes that women deserve equal rights with men.”

Gerard tried to gauge his mother’s opinion from her tone and failed. “She does.”

“And so does her best friend, a Quaker widow in whom you have shown interest.”

Instantly Blessing’s face sprang to mind. She was smiling at him, teasing him. He buried his eager response. “Aunt Fran shouldn’t let her tongue run away with her,” he observed dryly.

“Frances liked her very much. Said she was honest and good. I hear she operates an orphanage. That’s a fine thing to do. Many times I’ve tried to visit an orphanage here to offer my assistance, but your father forbade me. He just sent them money. He said he didn’t want me exposed to ‘such people.’”

Gerard could hear his father saying those words and meaning them. “Father didn’t care for Mrs. Brightman.”

She sent him a wry grin that said she understood. “I should have been stronger, Son.” She sighed. “When my parents decided that Saul Ramsay would be my husband, I should have resisted. But I’ve never been strong like your Quaker widow, who doesn’t seem to care what others say about her work. I protested but in the end gave in. I’m sorry.”

Gerard leaned forward and captured her hands. “You’ve been a good mother. I’ve never doubted your love for me.”

“Thank you, Son. But I’m not happy with how I’ve wasted my life. Perhaps if this ailment hadn’t come upon me when you were just a small child, our life might have been different. But it did come, and soon it will finally take me to the grave.”

Her words touched a spark to his fear. “Mother, don’t speak like that.”

“It’s the truth, and I’m glad to have this time with you while I am still somewhat myself.”

“I don’t have to go back—”

“Yes, you do. You’ve broken free from your father, and I won’t let my failing health interfere with that. In fact, Gerard, I don’t want you to witness my final days. Let’s enjoy this last holiday with each other. Then you’ll go back to your independent life in Cincinnati and not let your father hem you in.”

Her expression lightened. “Now tell me about these freethinking speakers you’ve listened to. Your father was livid when he saw your name in the newspaper as attending radical meetings.”

Ramsay smiled back. “You sound as if you’d like to go.”

“I would. Please tell me what these speakers said.”

And so he did, telling her first about meeting Tippy and Blessing in Seneca Falls, then recounting James Bradley’s lecture and Sojourner Truth’s. Finally he could tell she was lagging, so he rose and called for her maid. He kissed his mother’s forehead. “Sleep, Mother. I’ll visit tomorrow.”

She responded only with a frail grip that caused him more distress. He returned to his room and found a note by his bed. He opened it and could not believe who had sent it. He hurried downstairs and found the butler. “When did this note arrive?”

“After dinner, sir. You’d already gone up to your mother’s suite and I didn’t want to disturb you. The messenger boy said that I should just leave it in your room. I know it’s not the usual way, but a note this late in the evening . . .” The man looked worried as if he feared Gerard might be displeased.

“That’s fine. It is unusual.”
But then Kennan is unusual.
And should he go to the meeting the note proposed? After his “lost” night in Cincinnati?

DECEMBER 26, 1848

Fluffy snowflakes fell in a gentle shower as Gerard arrived at Ticknor, Reed & Fields, a publishing house across from the Park Street Church with its imposing white steeple, the church where Gerard’s family had held membership for decades. The note that had prompted him to appear here lay in his pocket.

Kennan stepped out from the leafless elms near the side of the church. Gerard’s onetime friend looked haggard, unshaven, and rumpled. “Gerard.”

Remembering how awful he’d felt for two days after their last meeting, Gerard hesitated. “Kennan.”

“I chose a church so we could speak privately and you wouldn’t feel . . .”

Gerard let a carriage pass, then crossed to the entrance of the church as Kennan drew nearer.

“Feel as if you might slip something into my drink?” Gerard asked, pinning Kennan with his gaze.

“You figured that out?” Kennan almost smirked but without any humor.

Anger flamed within. Gerard glared at him. But instead of speaking, he waved his friend through the white doors, out of the chill. Winter sunshine lit the cavernous interior of the church. He sat on one of the straight-back chairs, and Kennan took the seat beside him. The walls and floor breathed deep cold around their ankles and up into their faces.

“I’m sorry,” Kennan muttered. “I didn’t want to do it, but Smith—”

“Smith,” Gerard snapped in an undertone. Even though the church appeared empty, someone still might be inside.

“Gambling got me. I owed him way more than I could pay. He told me he’d cancel half my debt if I could get you out for the evening onto the docks at a certain . . . brothel.”

Each word galled Gerard. “Why did he want me at a certain brothel?”

“I don’t know. Halfway through the night, I think some
one else drugged me too. I woke up in an alley at the wharf, sick with an aching head.”

“Serves you right. That’s how I woke up.”
After being dumped in front of Mrs. Mather’s boardinghouse.

“As soon as I was able to, I got on the next steamboat east. I reached Pittsburgh and was able to borrow money there from another old schoolmate to get the rest of the way home.”

Gerard fumed in silence. Kennan had betrayed him and run away. He’d known Kennan had betrayed him, but each blunt fact was more bitter than the one before.

“Frankly, I couldn’t face you after what I’d done. I don’t know why Smith wanted me to get you down to the docks. But it couldn’t have been good.”

Gerard knew why, but he had no intention of explaining the scheme to Kennan. Thanks to Stoddard, Gerard’s reputation had been preserved and Smith’s intended scandal had been avoided. No need to rehash it or to satisfy Kennan’s morbid curiosity.

“Are you still trying to get your racetrack started?” Kennan shifted in his seat as if the surroundings made him uncomfortable.

“I’ve broken with Smith.” Gerard shivered with the chill. The idea of the racetrack still resurfaced from time to time, but Gerard knew it was unlikely ever to materialize.

“That was wise. I’m not going back to Cincinnati. I still owe Smith money, and I’m not giving him another penny.”

“Good.”

“I’m really sorry, Gerard. The incident made me realize that I was going beyond the pale.” Kennan sounded sincere.

“Good,” Gerard repeated and moved to rise.

Kennan stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. “Gerard, I tried to think of a way to make it up to you,” Kennan continued in a lower voice, sounding urgent. “So I started watching your father. I thought the man can’t be the plaster saint he makes himself out to be.”

Gerard noticed the sudden suppressed excitement creeping into Kennan’s tone.

“And I was right.” Kennan grinned, his eyes alight. “Here, take this.”

Gerard glanced down at the folded paper. He accepted it but with a feeling of uncertainty. Was this another ploy to ruin him? Could he take a chance on trusting Kennan again?

“How’s Stoddard?” Kennan asked as he stood nervously, obviously ready to escape the church.

“Married.” Gerard looked again at the paper.

“Poor sap. Don’t let that widow catch you,” Kennan said with a nonchalance that poked Gerard hard.

Kennan took one step away, then paused. “I did this to make up for . . . that night. I felt bad, really bad, about wronging you. You and Stoddard have always been my friends. I’m sorry I broke trust with you.” Kennan gazed at him. “Go to the address on that paper.”

“Why?”

“Because I could hardly believe it myself. There you’ll find your father’s clay feet. Merry Christmas.” With that darkly turned felicitation, Kennan left as if escaping an enemy.

Gerard didn’t follow Kennan. He sat in the silent church, listening to the muted street noises outside. Finally he unfolded the note. In Kennan’s scrawl was an address, an address in Manhattan. What was this about? Did it have
anything to do with Smith? Did his reach extend all the way to the East Coast? But Smith was from Boston, not New York. And Kennan had sounded honest about his remorse. His father and clay feet? Gerard didn’t know what to think.

DECEMBER 27, 1848

Blessing sat quietly in her own kitchen, staring into space, shortly after returning from her parents’ home.

Salina came in, glanced at her, and sat down with a grunt. “What’s ailin’ you?”

The question shook Blessing out of her listless gloom. She chuckled. “Nothing really.” Nothing she would admit to.

“Hmm.” Salina sounded unconvinced. “I know what’s got you down.”

Blessing knew too, but she didn’t want to hear anything about Ramsay said out loud. “Just a bit of loneliness after visiting my family,” she alibied. “We were all there.”

“Except for Joanna.”

“Yes, that too,” Blessing said, grateful that Salina hadn’t added,
“And except for Mr. Ramsay.”
Blessing rose. “I need to get busy and do something constructive, not just sit here.”

Salina worked her way back to her feet. “You found anybody to replace Joanna?”

“No, but that’s a good idea. I need to start looking. Theodosia has been helping with the children, but we need more help, someone in charge.” Blessing headed toward the front hall for her shawl, bonnet, and gloves.

Salina followed Blessing and opened the door for her. “When that Mr. Ramsay comin’ back?”

“I don’t know,” Blessing replied as if she didn’t care. But she hoped soon—and then scolded herself. She must not let him into her heart. One husband was enough to last her a lifetime, and she sincerely believed that Ramsay wouldn’t ever desire marriage. And in light of the fact that she’d never be unequally yoked again, the idea of Gerard’s joining the Quaker meeting was even less conceivable than the idea of his taking a wife—and that wife being her.

Though he’d resisted the impulse, Gerard found himself in Manhattan two days after Christmas, riding in a covered, horse-drawn omnibus. He would need to return to Boston before dawn in order to depart on time with Stoddard’s mother.

Now, nearing the address Kennan had given him, he tugged on the strap connected to the ankle of the omnibus driver, and the coach drew to a halt. Gerard stepped out near the address. And felt like a fool.