Blessing (32 page)

Gerard grabbed him around the waist, knocking him down.

The man reared up. His fists pummeled Gerard, who answered blow with blow. Gerard had boxed at university, but this slave catcher appeared to have years of experience in street fighting and was practically on top of Gerard now. Gerard began to give ground, protect his head, hoping to land a blow that would—

Then the man gasped and dropped to the grass.

Gerard glanced up in confusion and saw the girl Rebecca standing behind the man with a long-handled wooden paddle in hand. She’d struck his head from behind. “I’m not a Quaker either,” she said.

Her imposition galled him. But, too winded to speak, he stood and stared down at the two men.

“Get the girl they want out of the carriage,” Honor ordered. “We must hide her safely before they regain consciousness.”

Blessing surged forward and climbed over the two catchers and into the carriage. Before Gerard’s eyes, she let a girl out of a hidden compartment. Astonishment went through him in icy waves. Just as he’d feared, Blessing Brightman was involved with the Underground Railroad and evidently all of her family was too.

The runaway cringed, whimpering and trembling. She was finely dressed, a very beautiful mulatta and so very young that he was horrified any man would make her his mistress, if indeed that’s what she was. It was indecent.

The girl bolted, obviously terrified. She disappeared behind one of the cabins.

Gerard bent over, gasping from exertion, trying to think what to do.

“We need to get her away from here,” Blessing said. “These men will not listen to our objections. And someone else might come prepared with a search warrant.” She paused.

“Thee’s right,” Honor agreed. “I should have thought of that.” She turned and rapidly signed to her husband, who nodded and started running toward the barn. Honor rested a hand on Gerard’s back. “Gerard Ramsay, what will we do with these slave catchers?”

“What will we do?” he asked, still trying to regain his normal breath.

“Yes, that’s what she asked,” Blessing snapped at his repetition.

Their gazes connected, and he could see she was thinking
the same thing he was—Smith. The men’s mention of being paid had been the clue, but perhaps a misleading one. The slave catchers might have been paid by the girl’s master, after all.

“Gerard Ramsay, can thee handle these slave catchers?” Honor repeated.

“I need rope. Quick.” He straightened. “I’ll tie them up. Drive them back to town in their own wagon.”

Honor signed quick instructions to Caleb, who hurried off.

“And what then?” Blessing demanded.

“Turn them in to the sheriff for trying to search without a warrant and for attacking me when I tried to stop them. They’ve broken the law.”
Just like you have, Blessing Brightman.

“I’ll come with thee,” Blessing said.

“No, you’ll stay here with your family,” Gerard ordered. “Who knows what . . .” He didn’t finish what he was thinking—
what Smith might try next, especially if these are his men.

Blessing didn’t argue but bit her lower lip, looking worried.

Caleb appeared with a length of rope, and soon the two limp men were trussed up and lying in the bed of their own wagon. Gerard turned to say good-bye but halted. He’d never seen Blessing wring her hands. He stopped and claimed them. “Stay here.”

“The orphanage,” she murmured, searching his eyes. “After thee has finished with these two, please visit and see that all is well. While I’m away, he might . . .”

Gerard understood her. He squeezed her gloved hands, wanting to pull her close and reassure her within his embrace. “I will make sure everyone is safe.”

Then he became aware that his hold on her hands was
being noticed, so he dropped them and stepped backward. His bloodied knuckles stung from fighting, and a headache was beginning. But Gerard was momentarily unable to move, captured by the distress in Blessing’s expression.

After securing Gerard’s hired horse to the rear of the wagon, Caleb called out, “Ready!”

Gerard composed himself, thanked the Cathwells for their hospitality, and turned away from Blessing.

“Thanks for helping,” Caleb said in that strange-sounding voice. Gerard shook his extended hand.

Gerard climbed onto the wagon, turned it, and drove back toward the city. He was aware that a Cathwell Glassworks wagon had also left the property and was headed in the opposite direction, but he dismissed it from his mind. The less he knew, the better. By law he should have apprehended the runaway and compelled her to come with him to the nearest magistrate. But he would not, could not have done that, even if a magistrate had been standing in front of him. The girl’s youth and her obvious situation repulsed him.

Within a mile, the men behind him began to wake, moaning. Caleb had gagged them, a touch Gerard appreciated. He wouldn’t have wanted to listen to them threatening and arguing all the way to Cincinnati. His mind stuttered over all that had happened, all that had been revealed within a few minutes’ time.

Now he knew how Blessing had been able to spirit Smith’s mistress away; he knew why she had connections at a place like “number three.” No doubt Jewel had long since arrived somewhere in Canada. And maybe, in vengeance, Smith had hired those slave catchers to watch Blessing and follow her.

Again he saw the terror-stricken face of the young runaway, imagined the helplessness of her position. Ire forced its way up his throat. His knuckles, cut and bruised, tingled. He only wished he could have dealt out more punishment to the two slave catchers. Blessing might have broken federal statute, but now so had he. And he didn’t regret it. God as his witness, he didn’t.

Late that Saturday night, Gerard finally was able to leave the Cincinnati jail. Leading away the horse he’d hired for the day, he walked beside Alan Lewis, the lawyer Honor Cathwell had told him to consult if needed.

The sheriff had been extremely reluctant to arrest the two slave catchers, who had been vociferous in their own defense. So Gerard had paid a boy on the street to take a message to Lewis. The lawyer had come right away and had insisted on the two catchers’ being charged with unlawful search and assault. Though muttering darkly, the sheriff had given way to the lawyer and jailed the catchers.

“I’m sorry to say that those two catchers will probably go free,” Lewis said now, finally penetrating Gerard’s mind.

“But I can bring witnesses.”

“And the jury will likely ignore their testimony. Have you forgotten the recent riots? The majority of people here don’t like slave catchers, but they really just want the runaway problem to disappear.”

This view chafed Gerard, but he couldn’t fault this man for telling the truth. They shook hands and parted.

Gerard stood a moment on the cool, dark street. Blessing
had asked him to stop at the orphanage, but now he intended upon sleeping there. Anything could happen if it were left unguarded. First he’d stop at his rooming house to let Mrs. Mather know he’d be out for the night. He mounted the horse and started off.

Mrs. Mather met him at the front door, her face creased in concern. “I’m glad thee is home. Stoddard sent a boy to fetch thee hours ago.”

“What is it?”

“His wife. They’ve called a doctor.”

Gerard turned and hurried down the steps to his horse, heart racing.

FEBRUARY 25, 1849

Still unsettled by Saturday’s violent confrontation, Blessing returned to the city with her family to attend First Day meeting—nothing out of the ordinary that might even hint at wrongdoing. Obeying God instead of her own desires often frustrated her.

After meeting, her family climbed into their wagon and followed her carriage to her own home in the city for the midday meal. Staring out the window at the familiar streets, she watched families dressed in their Sunday best walking home from church on this sunny, mild day, unaware of and unconcerned for the desperate lives passing through their city.

And in another layer of unseen concern, she struggled over Gerard’s involvement in her illegal activities. As soon as
they’d eaten dinner, she planned to send a message to Ramsay and find out what had happened to the slave catchers. To him.

What would she say to him? Most people viewed the Underground Railroad with shock and disapproval. But he’d defended the runaway. However, had that just been the passion of the moment? He’d helped Rebecca too, though—much against his wont.

As she led her family up her front steps, she chided herself.
Just as well if he’s disapproving. This should erect a higher, firmer wall between us.
Though that might be the sensible view, she found it hard to face.

Salina opened the front door to them, her expression somber.

Blessing inhaled sharply. “What is it?” Had Ramsay been hurt?

“Your friend is bad.”

“Gerard?”

Salina shook her head. “No, Miss Tippy.”

Blessing paused, her thoughts reeling. “What’s wrong?”

“Shiloh sent word that sweet young gal lost her baby last night.”

Blessing staggered. From behind, her father braced her. For a moment she couldn’t think, her heart lurching. “Tippy,” she whispered.

“Salina,” Honor said, “I think a strong cup of coffee is needed.”

Waving for them to follow her, Salina led Blessing and her family straight into the dining room; then she went on into the kitchen. Within minutes she returned, balancing a
coffeepot, cups, sugar, and creamer on a tray. Blessing’s sister Jamaica hopped up and helped Salina set her burdens down and serve the coffee.

“The cook got plenty of fixin’s and a couple of chickens roasting,” Salina said. “We thought you might bring your family here for Sunday dinner.”

Blessing’s head began throbbing. She rubbed and stretched the muscles at the back of her neck to loosen them. “Mother, Father,” she said and signed, “I must go and see if there is anything I can do.”

“Go on, dear.” Her mother patted her arm gently. “We’ll stay here, eat whatever thy cook has prepared for us, and then go on home. Don’t give us another thought. We’ll be praying for Tippy.”

Blessing rose and hugged her parents in turn. She bid the rest of her family farewell and headed out the door. Salina had evidently assumed that Blessing would go to the Henrys’ once she heard the news. Judson was still out front, waiting for her.

When she arrived at the Henry home, her courage nearly failed her. But she walked resolutely up to the door and was met by Honoree, Tippy’s housemaid and Shiloh’s sister. “How is she?” Blessing asked, shedding her bonnet and gloves in the foyer.

“Bad. It’s not just that she miscarried,” Honoree replied in a low voice. “She was terrible sick before, and that’s what caused her to miscarry. The doctor thinks it might be cholera.”

Cholera. The floor dropped out from beneath Blessing. She clutched the arm of the hall tree. Death usually claimed cholera’s victims.

“The doctor isn’t letting just anybody in to see her, and no one is supposed to touch her. Her mother and father are away.” Honoree was wringing her hands in distress.

Blessing rallied. “Has anyone sent for them?”

Honoree nodded. “A messenger has been sent. But it’ll be days before they return from Kentucky.”

“I want to see her.”

“Come.” Honoree led her up the stairs to the second-floor landing. The door to a spare room stood open, and as she passed, Blessing glimpsed Stoddard sitting in a chair and holding his head in his hands in evident despair. Gerard sat on the seat adjacent to him, speaking in a low voice, his hand on Stoddard’s back.

Blessing was grateful Gerard was present and comforting his cousin. But her whole concentration turned to Tippy. Honoree opened the master bedroom door and Blessing entered.

On the canopied bed Tippy lay, pale and shrunken. Her mother-in-law, Fran, sat in a chair by the fireplace, her head bowed in obvious prayer. A familiar black-frocked doctor, one Blessing respected, stood at the end of the bed. They exchanged nods.

“Don’t touch her,” he cautioned in a low voice.

“How bad is the cholera?”

“It’s a light case, I think. And Mr. Henry called me immediately, so I was able to start treatment of saline injections right away. But it’s a violent disease and has taken its toll. She lost the child about eight hours into it. She’s also lost a lot of blood.”