Blessing

by Lyn Cote

  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.

  He gazed around at the neighborhood, neither rich nor poor. A coffeehouse sat on one corner and a grocer across from it. The chill wind started him walking. He tried to act purposeful, but since he was uncertain about the nature of his destination, that was difficult. Most of the houses on this street were modest, two-story affairs. Some no doubt housed two families.

  He located the house in question and glimpsed a woman walk out into the back garden. She was in her middle years with silver in her dark hair, plump and unprepossessing. She stooped over what looked like a dormant vegetable garden and began to dig with a spade. The woman unearthed three white tuberous vegetables.

  Parsnips? Gerard seemed to recall that they needed to be left in the cold ground and harvested over the winter, though he had no idea where he’d heard this. The woman rose, shook off the dirt, plunged the spade back into the ground, and hurried into the house as if chilled.

  He realized that he’d stopped too long and started up the street. A ruse came to mind, so he took out a notebook and paused at several houses in turn, gazing at them and jotting down notes.

  Finally one woman, clutching her shawl around herself, hurried out of her house and accosted him. “What’re you doing staring at my house?”

  He lifted his hat politely. “I was just wondering if any of the homes in this area are for sale?”

  “If you want to know that, you should ask a land agent, not loiter in a respectable neighborhood,” she snapped.

  “True, but I’ve often found that some people might be interested in selling but haven’t spoken to an agent yet. Do you know if any of your neighbors might be moving soon?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t gossip about my neighbors if I did. Now move along.” The woman waved him away.

  What was he doing here anyway? An omnibus heading back toward the heart of the city approached. Gerard bowed to the woman and hurried to lift a hand toward the omnibus. The driver stopped and Gerard boarded, paying the fare.

  Just as he sat, he saw another omnibus enter the street from the other direction and stop right across from his. Gerard’s bus was driving away when he saw someone he thought he recognized exit the other omnibus. His father?

  He craned his neck to see the man who dressed like his father, walked like his father. The man headed straight for the house Kennan had identified—the house with the woman and the parsnips.

  Turn around. Look toward me.

  But the man didn’t obey Gerard’s silent commands. He walked directly to the door and entered the house without knocking. What would his father be doing here? As the omnibus rumbled away over the cobbled street, Gerard sank into rank confusion.

  JANUARY 17, 1849

  Expecting Tippy and her family any moment, Blessing once again toured the first floor of the comfortable cottage across the street from Stoddard and Tippy’s home. Tippy had asked Blessing to help her prepare the cottage her mother-in-law, Fran, would live in. Blessing had relished the diversion of ordering custom curtains and slipcovers, coordinating colors and prints, and outfitting and stocking the kitchen. But nothing had distracted her from thinking of the man she wanted to forget.

  She’d heard that Ramsay had returned from Boston, escorting Tippy’s mother-in-law. And for two weeks, he hadn’t so much as passed her on the street. Absently, her fingers stirred the potpourri in a dish on a maple side table, the scents of lavender and rose oil drifting upward.

  Unfortunately, the less she saw Ramsay, the more she wanted to see him. Was he avoiding her—and if so, why? Perhaps visiting Boston had reminded him of who he was. But she had liked who he was becoming much better. Too much.

  A quiet sound alerted her that Shiloh had come into the room.

  “Mrs. Henry’ll be coming over soon?” Shiloh interrupted, obviously nervous to meet her new mistress.

  Blessing turned and smiled reassuringly at the girl, one of Joanna’s younger sisters. Shiloh resembled her mother, Aunt Royale, with her golden-brown hair and green eyes, and she matched the woman in beauty. “Yes. Stoddard’s mother has rested up from the trip here, and everything is ready for the move into her own cottage.”

  “I hope I like her and she likes me.” The girl looked down. This was Shiloh’s first job and first time living away from her home in Sharpesburg. Fran had left hiring her staff to Tippy, and Tippy had turned to Blessing.

  “Thee will do fine. She’s a sweet lady.”

  Shiloh smiled, her lower lip quivering.

  “Here they come,” Blessing said, looking over her shoulder as she heard the lady and her party approach. She went to open the door. “Come when I call thee, Shiloh.”

  The girl disappeared into the kitchen at the rear.

  Up the flagstone walk, Tippy led the quartet: herself, Frances, Stoddard, and bringing up the rear, Gerard. Blessing hadn’t expected him and quickly hid her sharp reaction to seeing him again—the man she couldn’t get out of her mind. She greeted the group with as much composure as she could manage.

  “Here’s your new home, Mother Henry,” Tippy said. “We tried to arrange it comfortably for you, but you’re welcome to make changes.”

  Blessing attempted to study Gerard without appearing to do so. However, his face was shut tight like a boarded-up house. Perversely, this remoteness merely caused her to draw a step nearer.

  She was close now, but his complete lack of acknowledgment shoved her backward.

  Halting, she swallowed hard.

  The others were still discussing the house, oblivious to Blessing’s angst. “We could always buy or build you something bigger if necessary, Mother,” Stoddard said.

  “No, I’m older now,” Fran replied, scanning the main floor. “I won’t be entertaining much, and this is certainly enough room for me.”

  At Gerard’s persistent disheartening silence, Blessing felt her own face freezing into place.

  “And you’ll be taking most of your meals with us,” Tippy reminded the older woman.

  “Shiloh,” Blessing called, anxious to move this forward and escape to her own home.

  The girl appeared, her face lowered. “Yes, Miss Blessing.”

  “Mother Henry,” Tippy said, “you’ve met Honoree, my housemaid. This is her sister Shiloh, your housemaid.”

  Fran approached her. “Hello, Shiloh.”

  Shiloh dropped a curtsy. “Ma’am.”

  Unaccountably, at that moment Blessing’s gaze met Ramsay’s. Blessing found she couldn’t move, couldn’t smile, couldn’t speak. She tried to break the connection, knowing that she must not just stand here staring at him. A panicky feeling shook her.

  Gerard broke away first, striding toward the rear of the cottage and looking out the window. “The cottage has a nicely sized
fenced-in garden.”

  Why could he break their connection and not she?

  Most of the others moved outside to view the winter garden. Tippy hung back, letting Blessing come alongside. Blessing hated the look of sympathy on her friend’s face. I must not behave foolishly about this man. My path is set—was set long before he came to town. And he can have no part in it.

  She accepted Tippy’s hand and the two of them followed the group. Tippy squeezed her hand as if in understanding, and Blessing vowed not to allow her emotions to affect her like this again. I should know better.

  Standing at the edge of the garden, Gerard chided himself for giving in to the temptation to come today. He could have begged off, but knowing that Blessing would be here, he found he couldn’t stay away. Until today he’d managed to elude her disturbing presence, but not his memories of her.

  Confusion weltered within him—over her, over Kennan, over the house in Manhattan. Yet he found he needed to at least see Blessing, a concerning admission. Her pale cheek beckoned his touch, and his gaze strayed to the elegant curve of her neck. He slipped his hand into his pocket to keep from drawing near and reaching for her.

  Since Gerard’s return, Stoddard had been very busy with his new bride, their new home, the demands of his job. Gerard hadn’t wanted to bother him, but he’d finally decided that he would, after all, confide in Stoddard about the address in Manhattan. He needed another opinion. And he most trusted Stoddard to give insight.

  As he and Stoddard hung back by the garden’s edge, the women strolled the path and the young maid pointed out the remnants of different plants and herbs that would bloom again. Even as he strove to ignore Blessing, the woman’s graceful carriage claimed his attention.

  “I need to talk to you,” Gerard whispered into his cousin’s ear.

  Stoddard glanced sideways at him. “Does it have something to do with Blessing?”

  “No,” he snapped in a low tone. “I saw Kennan in Boston.”

  Stoddard swung fully toward Gerard. “Kennan? When?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Gerard cautioned, raising a hand. “He left a note at my home, and then I met him at Park Street Church.”

  “Park Street Church?” Stoddard didn’t try to conceal his puzzlement.

  “I know—not where I’d ever expect to find Kennan. Anyway, he admitted he drugged me that night.”

  The women turned back toward the cottage. Blessing was looking down as if avoiding him.

  Stoddard growled under his breath. “Let’s table this till we can be alone.”

  He and Stoddard followed Fran, Tippy, Blessing, and Shiloh back inside. The women went on up the stairs to view the large bedroom for Stoddard’s mother and the small dressing room that had been turned into Shiloh’s quarters. Unable to look away, Gerard watched Blessing’s slender, stockinged ankles ascend the steps.

  Gerard and Stoddard remained downstairs, standing side by side. “Kennan admitted he drugged you?” his cousin asked in an undertone.

  “Yes. He owed Smith gambling debts he couldn’t pay. Smith wanted me drugged—to get me thrown out of our boardinghouse, as we suspected.”

  Stoddard let out a sound of disgust. “I’m done with Kennan.”

  “I am too, but before we parted, he said that he’d wanted to make it up to me. That he’d been watching my father—and then he gave me an address in Manhattan.”

  “What?” Stoddard’s face twisted in consternation.

  From above, Gerard heard the women’s voices and footsteps. “I tried to resist, but I ended up going there.”

  “What did you find?” Stoddard’s voice was a heated whisper.

  “A modest house in a comfortable residential section. And . . . I think I saw my father walk into it as though he belonged there. I mean, he didn’t knock, just walked inside.”

  “You think you saw your father there?” Stoddard repeated, disbelief in his tone.

  “Yes. My omnibus was just pulling away when I saw him—or a man who looked very much like him. I didn’t see his face directly, but he walked like my father,” Gerard said, his mind still resisting what he’d witnessed.

  “This is troubling,” Stoddard muttered. “What could your father be doing at a home in Manhattan?”

  The ladies were coming down the stairs now, Aunt Fran inviting them all to tea. Blessing walked past Gerard without a glance, and the slight stabbed him to the bone. He shook it off.

  The widow might intrigue him, tempt him, but his confusion over his father had reminded him why he should resist temptation. His parents’ arranged marriage had been unhappy, and Blessing’s own previous match didn’t inspire confidence. Yet how flat life tasted now without the audacious widow enlivening it.

  JANUARY 19, 1849

  Answering a quiet knock, Blessing opened the back door of the orphanage and found Ducky Hughes standing there. “Come in.”

  The subdued woman followed her into the kitchen, and with a nod to the cook, Blessing requested tea and cookies for their guest. Ducky sat down at the table, looking nervous, more nervous than before. What was the matter?

  “I’ll go get Danny,” Blessing said, hoping this would calm the woman. She returned in a few moments with the baby in her arms. She sat adjacent to Ducky. The woman was sipping her tea and nibbling a cookie, obviously tense. But she smiled as soon as Blessing turned Danny toward her.

  “Oh, he’s getting chubby. And he looks good.” Ducky drew in a deep breath of relief.

  “He’s growing fast,” Blessing agreed, noting that Ducky still seemed restless. “I want thee to know that I’ve started the legal process to adopt Danny as my own.”

  Ducky looked stunned. “Why would you do that?”

  Blessing tried to come up with an explanation. “I don’t know. I’ve just felt drawn to him from the very first night. I had always planned on adopting a few of the children. Danny will be the first.” She could look forward to having a family of her own, not living a completely solitary life.

  Ducky blinked away sudden tears. “I don’t know what I can say but thank you.”

  The cook excused herself and left with her shopping basket.

  Ducky looked around furtively and lowered her voice. “Are we alone?”

  So Ducky was indeed going to tell her what was wrong.

  Blessing glanced behind her and nodded. “Since it’s raining, the nurses and children are in the parlor, drawing pictures and playing jacks.”

  Ducky leaned forward and lowered her voice even more. “I came to see Danny, but I also wanted to warn you.” The woman paused and looked around again as if fearing to be overheard. “Smith is becoming . . . I don’t know how to put it. He’s always been bad, but now he’s worse somehow.”

  Blessing stiffened.

  Ducky sipped her tea and set the cup down. “His mistress left him, poor girl. I don’t know how she managed to get away, but ever since she left, he’s been really . . . dangerous,” Ducky said, shrugging.

  Blessing had known there might be reprisals over what she’d done.

  “He’s been heard saying things about you. My man, the one who protects me—” she looked down as if in shame—“he heard Smith’s got it in for you. He told me because he knows you took in Danny and knows I wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you. My man says for you to watch out comin’ down to the docks. Smith might try something. He’s dangerous,” Ducky repeated.

  Dangerous. Yes, Smith could be dangerous.

  “I don’t know why he should think you had anything to do with Jewel leavin’ him, but . . .” Once more the woman shrugged.

  Blessing also could think of no verifiable link between herself and Jewel’s disappearance. She was sure she’d covered her tracks, though Smith no doubt had his suspicions. She was a person he had not been able to twist to his purposes, in spite of his every effort. And she certainly stuck in his craw, though he couldn’t have been more successful in destroying her husband. It was through Richard’s periods of confession and promis
es to change and not return to the docks for long nights of drinking and worse that she’d first learned of Smith. The man had actually had the effrontery to attend Richard’s funeral and speak to her in veiled and insulting terms.

  But her husband wasn’t the only young gentleman Smith had ruined. He seemed to target them in particular. Over the years his ability to profit and coerce had only grown—to the downfall of many like Richard Brightman.

  Now, however, she’d foiled Smith’s attempt to ensnare Ramsay. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised that he believed her capable of interfering in his other enterprises as well.

  She came out of her thoughts. “Thank thee, Ducky. I’ll be cautious. I won’t come down to the docks alone.”

  “You might just stay away. I noticed you ain’t been down for a while.”

  Blessing sighed and felt the pinch of guilt. “I’ve been busy with other matters. Tell thy protector that I will heed his advice. I thank him.”

  “Good. I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you.”

  Blessing smiled and began to distract them both by telling Ducky about her nephew’s progress in rolling over and smiling. The woman stayed for about an hour before leaving. Holding Danny, Blessing remained on the back porch, praying for wisdom on how to proceed. Danny prattled, watching a bird on a nearby branch.

  The only person she really wanted to accompany her to the docks was Gerard Ramsay. But should she ask? She knew she shouldn’t, if only because she so wanted him with her in this, wanted him with her—period.

  FEBRUARY 14, 1849

  Tippy and Stoddard were giving their first dinner party on Valentine’s Day. Blessing had guessed that Ramsay would attend, and here he was, right beside her at their dining table. Yet he sat as removed from her as if she didn’t exist. She tried not to show how awkward this felt, tried to relax and act as if nothing between them had altered.

  If she didn’t know Tippy better, she would have suspected her of matchmaking. Blessing sincerely regretted the events and decisions—hers and his—that had drawn Ramsay more deeply into her life, her work. And obviously he was regretting them too. But she couldn’t have let him go to destruction and done nothing. That she didn’t regret.