The Abolitionist’s Secret (25 page)

“Well, then, we must invite him to tea. Jasmine can navigate the stairs quite well now. We’ll also invite Amanda. That way, I can see which one of you is capturing his interest. He is handsome, driven to succeed here in America, and he dances beautifully. He sort of reminds me of your father when we first met.” Charlotte sighed at the memory.

Heather sat back in her chair with a sigh of her own, as she and her mother both drifted into their own thoughts. She had no interest in Blake Morgan and was content to pass him off to either Jasmine or Amanda. Regardless of his motives, her mother was correct. He was a very attractive man, and his cultured accent drew people in. So why did his touch not move her in the same way David’s had? She could barely keep a thread of conversation going with Blake, where with David, she never ran out of things to say.
Face it, Heather. Every man you meet from now until the end of time will be measured against David and will come up short.
If only David was not a southerner, or had a mother who was a bit less evil, they could still be together. This was such foolishness. She thought again of David’s strong hands as they ran over her curves and sighed, longing for what would never be.

She realized her perspective on the bubbling tension between the northern and the southern states was different from most, since she had sympathy for both sides. Today it was a caning in the respectable halls of the Senate. What would it be tomorrow? Unlike her mother, she was not able to sweep under the rug her time in the south and forge ahead as if it had never happened. Heather saw the storm clouds whirling over the head of this country, and knew the course had been set. She only hoped the conflict would be swift and certain.

• • •

True to her word, Charlotte organized a small tea party in the parlor of the Fitzpatrick home a few days later. So as not to tip her hand in Blake Morgan’s favor, she also invited Silas Roosevelt, a handsome thirty-three-year-old descendant of one of the wealthiest of New York’s families, and Nathan Miller, an outspoken abolitionist whom she had met at the fundraiser several weeks earlier. Three men would even things out, with Heather, Jasmine, and Amanda in attendance, and the men’s diverse backgrounds would make for lively parlor conversation, Charlotte was certain.

She clapped her hands with glee as she added the finishing touches to the room. She envisioned the way the afternoon’s conversation would unfold, and she knew she could readily pick up on which of her daughters Mr. Morgan was leaning toward. The stage was set. Now she just needed the players to arrive before she drew back the curtain.

Within a half hour, the room was filled with all the guests. Charlotte took a seat on one side of the room, while her daughters and Amanda interspersed themselves among the men. Charlotte’s role in this scenario was to play the part of chaperone, but she also thought she might be needed to direct the conversation somewhat, as any good hostess should. However, she soon realized that she was not needed in that regard, since both Amanda and Jasmine acted like magpies, each attempting to steal the spotlight from the other. Heather, however, sat back in her chair and paid close attention to her cup of tea. She stared into it, as if she was trying to read the tea leaves to portend her future.

Charlotte sighed. She feared the scars on Heather’s heart were still too fresh. Perhaps this season would end with neither of her daughters wed. And she had such high hopes for this year. If she could not get her twins married off — the two who had fancied boys since they could walk — how was she ever going to succeed with the likes of Rosemary, her little bookworm? Closing off her introspection, Charlotte returned her attention to the quiet conversation swirling around her.

“Mr. Morgan, thank you so much for dinner the other evening,” Charlotte interjected. “Heather and I both enjoyed the meal immensely.”

“No, I must be the one to offer thanks, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. If not for you telling me of your plans to attend the Haversham ball, I would have stayed home and not have had the opportunity to get to know your daughter better, or to meet Miss Phillips.” Morgan flashed a warm smile in Amanda’s direction.

Oh dear, this was not going as planned.
Charlotte needed to redirect the conversation toward Jasmine and Heather. Before she could speak, however, Heather finally opened her mouth.

“Mr. Miller, Mother tells us she met you at the abolitionist fundraiser. Were you one of the organizers of that event?” Heather glanced over at Nathan Miller, a strong, strapping man with a shock of blond hair.
Well, at last, and thank goodness, Heather has found her voice
, Charlotte thought. Too bad her topic of choice was abolition. Charlotte had been hoping for neutral parlor conversation this afternoon.

“Yes, Miss Fitzpatrick, I was, and am, quite involved in raising funds to promote our cause. I will not rest until slavery is abolished in this land.” His voice rose as he warmed to the subject. The teacup he held looked very fragile in his large hand. He turned to Charlotte. “Thank you, again, for your generous contribution, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. You have helped fund our next mission in Kansas.”

Heather spoke again, her voice rising as well. “Why Kansas? Why is Kansas in such an uproar? Isn’t that where the incident took place just a couple of days ago that ended in a scuffle on the Senate floor?”

Nathan smiled over at the formerly quiet woman. “Kansas and Missouri butt up to each other, and there are constant skirmishes on each side of the border, since one has professed to be a free state and one a slave state. You never know from which side of the border the next clash will come. But we are confident it will take place in Kansas.”

“I fear we are in for a time of it,” Heather replied.

Jasmine and Amanda glanced at each other and then over at Heather. “Just like you to put a damper on our day with your talk of war,” Jasmine said. “Let’s change the topic. Mr. Miller, since you were the culprit who first introduced the topic of slavery, you now need to come up with a topic more suitable to parlor conversation.”

Nathan glanced at Jasmine. “All right then, why don’t you tell me how you broke your ankle?”

“Oh, this?” Jasmine raised her ankle’s cast from the floor, allowing for a scandalous glimpse of her other, unbound ankle before she set her cast back on the floor. Her mother let out a small gasp as she noticed Jasmine’s unfettered ankle, and she was certain each of the men got a glimpse, too. “This is the result of an experiment gone awry. My cobbler thought he could coat the bottoms of my shoes with a bright color. He’s looking for a way to set his shoes apart from the rest of the cobblers in town. However, his creativity became very slippery when I stepped in a puddle and down I went. And on my coming-out night, too.”

As Jasmine and Nathan kept the conversation moving, Charlotte looked again to Heather. Charlotte noticed the tears sparkling in Heather’s eyes in response to Jasmine’s biting words. While Charlotte applauded Jasmine for changing the subject, since she agreed war was not a topic for young women to be discussing, she secretly agreed with Heather. She thought the worst was yet to come. If her sweet daughter could be imprisoned, for even a day, simply because she was teaching slaves how to write their names, she feared the South would never be rational when it came to the topic of slavery.

Despite the predictions of war looming on the horizon, there was still time to salvage today’s party. Mr. Roosevelt had been uncommonly quiet. If Blake Morgan’s attention shifted to Amanda, blast her hide, Charlotte would alter her attention as well. Mr. Roosevelt came from one of the most distinguished families in the country, and he would be a most wonderful husband for Heather. Or Jasmine. Charlotte put a smile on her face as she turned her attention to Silas. “So tell us, Mr. Roosevelt, what is the latest from your family?”

Charlotte, George, and the rest of the family were enjoying their Sunday morning breakfast prior to heading out to church. George read his paper at the table, as was his custom. Breakfast was a subdued affair, with quiet conversation and the rustling of the newspaper being the only sounds. The aroma of scrambled eggs, bacon, and sweet rolls filled the air.

“What’s the news, Papa?” Heather inquired, not really caring what the headlines were, but eager to break the silence.

“It’s all bad, I’m afraid. Another raid took place in Kansas last night, and five men were killed at the hand of John Brown. Doesn’t speak well for the non-violent abolitionist cause, I’m afraid.”

Heather glanced immediately at her mother. “That must be the mission Mr. Miller talked about yesterday in the parlor.”

“My stars,” Charlotte replied, placing her hand on her heart. “Five dead? Because they were in support of slavery? And, I’m afraid buying you that autographed copy of
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
may have helped get Mr. Brown to Kansas. Oh, dear. I will have to pray extra hard in church today.”

“The paper is calling it the Pottawatomie Massacre. With it happening just a few days after the Missouri Border Ruffians ransacked and burned an anti-slavery haven in Lawrence, it appears the government may call in the army to maintain peace on the border.” George laid down the paper. “And they’re calling John Brown a hero. What is this world coming to?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about,” Charlotte responded. “We’ll continue to assist George Downing and help as many slaves to freedom as we can. Ginger and Basil are in Missouri, but far enough away from the fracas that they are not in harm’s way. We’ll leave it to the army to put down the rebels and hope that peace can be restored to the country.”

Heather chewed on her sweet roll as she contemplated her mother’s words. She knew this border war between Kansas and Missouri was only a precursor of many bad times to come, but she didn’t want to upset the family on a Sunday, so she let it go and quickly finished her meal so she could get ready for church.

Blake Morgan waited outside the church for them. Stalking them. At least, that’s what it looked like to Heather. He stood in front of the massive doors of the old and elegant building, and fell into step alongside her as the family entered the building.

“How nice to see you, Miss Fitzpatrick. Do you mind if I join you for the service?”

Heather looked to her mother for guidance. Charlotte moved alongside her and patted Mr. Morgan’s arm. “We’d love to have you in our family pew. It’s nice to see you up and about on this fine morning, spending some time in church.”

“I enjoyed meeting your other daughter at tea last week. Is Jasmine unable to attend today?”

“It’s still hard for her to get around, so she’s at home this morning, reading her Bible.”

Heather snorted at her mother’s words. The Bible, indeed. More likely a fashion journal.

“So it seems I am to be at your sole disposal this morning, Miss Fitzpatrick.” He tipped his silk top hat to her.

Heather sighed softly. How did she get to be so lucky? “It seems that way.” She took his offered arm and as a unit, they glided down the aisle and into the family’s pew. Heather was aware of the quiet buzz that their entrance produced, and she blushed at the attention being directed at her. People swiveled in their seats to gaze at the pair of them. Why did these people have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning than to speculate on her love life?

Blake turned in her direction. “It seems we’ve created headlines this morning,” he whispered. Heather nodded to him while she silently gnashed her teeth.

“I’d say merely a stir, not a headline, Mr. Morgan. Surely you can’t put this event in the same category as the headline in the paper this morning.”

Blake glanced at Heather. “I’m surprised that you know of the morning headlines.”

“I like to stay informed, Mr. Morgan. As I’ve told you before, I intend to become a teacher. Therefore, I’d best know what’s going on in this country.” Heather’s voice began to rise.

Blake leaned over and placed his hand over hers. “And I applaud your enthusiasm,” he whispered. “But now is not the time or place to be discussing such weighty matters. Let us enjoy the service.”

Heather leaned back in the pew with another sigh. She was restless, and she knew that, as agreeable as Blake Morgan was today, she had no special feelings for him. He had put her on the spot today. Now that they appeared in church together, many members of the congregation would assume they were a couple. But Heather knew she received his attention simply because there was no one else around. She thought he would have chosen to be with Amanda, had she and her family shown up first today, or with Jasmine, if she had limped to church instead of begging off and staying in her room. But, because fate had intervened, everyone now thought she had made her choice of a replacement for Lieutenant Whitman.

What was she going to do now? She turned to gaze at Blake closely. He was handsome enough, she thought. She liked his voice and accent. He was a bit too dandified for her tastes, but clothes could be easily changed. Maybe she should give herself the opportunity to get to know him better, despite the early warning bells that had clamored in her head. Perhaps he could be the replacement for David.

She allowed herself to think of doing with Blake those things David had taught her each night at the cottage. Her blush deepened as she looked at Blake’s long fingers and wondered what kind of response those fingers could evoke from her body, if any. She remembered how David had excited her night after night. Her body began to respond to her wayward thoughts, and she shivered at the memory.

Shaking her head to clear those thoughts, she brought herself back to her current surroundings. Here she was, in church, of all places, sitting beside one man and thinking about the sensual feelings that another man had aroused in her. How totally inappropriate! She smiled at Blake and sat up straight, waiting for the service, and her new life to begin.

• • •

“That colored boy at the livery seems rather fond of you, Miss Fitzpatrick.” Blake glanced over at Heather from his perch on top of his horse. They were riding to the park together for some light exercise.