The Abolitionist’s Secret

by Becky Lower

  The Abolitionist’s Secret

  Becky Lower

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Becky Lower ISBN 10: 1-4405-5590-7

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5590-9

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5591-5

  eISBN 13: 978-1-44055591-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © istockphoto.com/Igor Demchenkov, Anne Power

  I’d like to thank my siblings for providing me with all the background I could possibly want in order to create a realistic portrayal of the inner workings of the large Fitzpatrick family. Without you guys, I would never know how to portray sibling rivalry, competition for affection from our parents, or how to love someone because they’re your sister or brother but still not approve of some of the choices they make in life. Heather and Jasmine’s relationship springs not only from my imagination but also from some of my real-life family moments.

  So, thank you to my sisters Pat, Cathe and Sherrie. And to my brother, John, who will forever be known as “Buzz” to his four sisters.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Author’s Note

  One cannot set a book in America in the decade prior to the Civil War without making mention of the rising tensions in the country during that time. In my attempt for historical accuracy, I searched for a few significant events that really happened in 1856, and used them as the backdrop of my story. The bones of the story are set in fact, but the fleshing out of the plot is pure fiction.

  For example, Downing’s Oyster Restaurant was a popular eatery in New York City at the corner of Broad and Wall Streets. It was owned by a free man of color named Thomas Downing. His son, George, ran the Underground Railroad stop at the restaurant, and both men were involved in the abolitionist movement from 1825 through 1860. As the years progressed, this stop became well known among escaping slaves and the people who were searching for them. Guests at the restaurant frequently had their meals interrupted as slave mongers disrupted the kitchen looking for escaped slaves.

  Other examples of true events in my story include the scuffle over slavery on the Senate floor between pro-slavery Congressman Preston Brooks and anti-slavery advocate Congressman Charles Sumner, and the border war between Kansas and Missouri, which was the first battle to take place involving the military. Tensions were ratcheting up in the country, and it was a turbulent time to live in America. The war may not have begun until 1861, but the fighting started long before that.

  While there are other details in the book that are historically true, this is essentially a work of fiction.

  A portion of the proceeds of this book will be donated to the Oberlin Underground Railroad Center Project in Oberlin, OH.

  Chapter 1

  New York City, April 1856

  The hair on the back of Heather Fitzpatrick’s neck rose. She glanced around the opulent restaurant, trying to find the cause of her discomfort. Her eyes locked with those of a military officer sitting with two other men at a table across the room. A bolt of electricity ricocheted between them. Heather could not move for a moment, or break the contact. She finally forced her eyes away from him and placed the menu in front of her face.

  “Whatever is the matter, dear?” Her mother asked. “Don’t tell me you are coming down with the same stomach upset that Jasmine has.”

  “No, Mother, it’s nothing. I feel fine.” She placed a hand on her stomach, willing it to stop fluttering about.

  Thomas Downing, a free man of color and the owner of the restaurant, came to their table. “Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, how nice to see you again. And young Miss Fitzpatrick.” He nodded in Heather’s direction.

  Heather’s mother, Charlotte, glanced up from the menu. “Hello, Thomas. We’re here tonight to sample some of your exquisite oysters.”

  “Best in the city. You know, I row out every morning to the fishermen in the harbor and pick through their catch to find the finest oysters from the bay for my customers.” Thomas smiled, his white teeth flashing in his dark face. A bottle of chilled champagne sat in a bucket of ice. Thomas opened it with a flourish and filled the three glasses at the table with the bubbly pinkish liquid.

  “The table setting is just lovely, Thomas,” Charlotte said, sliding off her long white gloves and touching the fresh flowers in the center of the table. “Your attention to detail is impeccable, as always.”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. That’s a mighty fine compliment, coming from you. Now, may I start you off with your usual appetizer?”

  Heather’s father, George Fitzpatrick, answered, “I see no reason to break with tradition, Thomas.”

  As Thomas departed to see to their appetizers, Heather said, “I love coming here. You know, my friend Mary Rose told me her family would not dream of coming to any restaurant owned by a Negro, regardless of the quality of the food.”

  “Fortunately, we’re a bit more enlightened than that,” her father replied quietly. “We’ve known Thomas, and his son George, for a long time now, and we know the good they do for the cause. If, by us patronizing their restaurant, it enables them to help one more person, we are happy to come here.”

  Charlotte turned her attention to Heather and George. “It’s so nice to have this quiet evening before we begin the season in earnest. Shall we toast to a successful Cotillion?” She raised her champagne flute.

  George clinked his glass to hers, and added, “Here’s hoping we can marry off both of our twins without any touch of scandal coming our way this year.”

  Heather giggled. “Oh, Papa. Neither Jasmine nor I are anything like Ginger. We won’t give you any cause for concern.”

  Charlotte’s glass clinked lightly against Heather’s. “Well it’s true you two have been looking for a husband since you were born, so I don’t think our ultimate goal of finding suitable mates for you will be a problem. But you never know with Jasmine. She is a bit indiscriminate with her feelings. She will bear watching, even if you won’t.” Charlotte’s laughter joined Heather’s as they sipped their champagne.

  “Excuse me, but aren’t you Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick?” A deep voice broke into the festivities. All three Fitzpatrick’s turned to look at the man who spoke. Heather’s heartbeat stuttered as the officer who had been across the room now stood
only a foot away from her.

  Charlotte and George stared at the man for a short moment. Then, they both rose to their feet as they recognized him.

  “Lieutenant! How nice to see you. We weren’t expecting you for several more days.” Charlotte said as the officer bowed to her. Then, he turned and shook George’s hand.

  Charlotte whispered, “Heather, do stand up.”

  Heather rose on unsteady legs as her father introduced her to Lieutenant David Whitman.

  “This is the young man we met last year in St. Louis. You remember me talking about him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Heather curtsied slightly as the lieutenant bowed. He stared into her eyes and held her captive with his gaze for longer than what society deemed appropriate. The air crackled and hummed around them. Heather finally moved her gaze from the handsome lieutenant and glanced at her parents, wondering if they, too, had been aware of the current in the room. They looked nonplussed.

  From her parents’ description of the Army officer who aided in the great railroad disaster the previous year, Heather pictured an older and more reserved gentleman, not someone who exuded such bold masculinity. And certainly not someone who could render her speechless with a mere glance across a crowded restaurant. She swayed slightly. A blush crept up her face as he continued to peruse her.

  “Will you join us, Lieutenant? We were about to order our meal.” Charlotte laid her hand on his arm.

  “No, I’m afraid not. I stopped in here to sample some of Downing’s famous oysters and ran into two of my father’s business associates this evening. We’re just finishing up, so I must decline your offer.”

  Charlotte continued, “Does your family live close by, then?”

  David smiled, “No, ma’am. My father’s property is near Savannah, Georgia. I must return to say goodnight to the men. But I do plan to take you up on your invitation to tea two days hence.”

  “I’m counting on you being there, and being properly introduced to both of my daughters.”

  “Without fail, I look forward to your gracious invitation,” he replied and turned away from their table to return to his company.

  Heather watched the lieutenant as he joined his companions and they took care of the bill. For the first time since noticing him, she spared a glance at his acquaintances. Surprised at his rather rough compatriots, she glanced back at her mother and tilted her head slightly toward the table where the men sat.

  “Mother, do you think the men with the lieutenant are slave mongers? Look, one of them even has a whip woven around his mid-section.”

  “Yes, it looks that way,” Charlotte whispered back. “I wonder if the nice young lieutenant is aware of the profession of his companions. Look at the way those two are checking every dark face among the staff.”

  Heather remained watching as David rose from the table and took his leave of the men. The bounty hunters remained seated for a few minutes longer before they left the dining room.

  “Maybe now we can eat in peace,” Heather replied as she placed a hand over her stomach. As she relived the way her body responded when the lieutenant’s eyes were on her, she seriously doubted she’d be able to eat a morsel of the restaurant’s fine food.

  Thomas Downing returned to their table. In a hushed tone, he said, “I apologize, but service is going to be very slow this evening. We have some men in the kitchen, bounty hunters, who are looking for an escaped slave. They show no signs of leaving anytime soon. Would you care to wait?”

  George sighed and replied. “No, Thomas, regrettably, we’ll have to take our leave for the evening without sampling any of your food. I know the last time the slave mongers came in here and upset your kitchen, they shut things down for hours.” George laid some money on the table to cover the cost of the champagne, and shook hands with the man. “We’ll be back again soon.”

  “I am so sorry to have ruined your evening.”

  Heather replied, “You haven’t. Nor have the slave mongers ruined our evening, Mr. Downing. But if those men find whoever it is they’re looking for, that poor person’s evening, and their life, will be destroyed. I hope their search is fruitless.”

  “Hush, Heather,” replied her father. “I dare say we don’t need to incite those bounty hunters further. Let’s get along home before trouble ensues. I wish no harm to come to either of you.”

  • • •

  George led Charlotte and Heather out through the mahogany and glass doors of the restaurant, as the voices from the kitchen grew louder.

  “Our carriage is in the alley. I think you’d best come with me, since it’s not safe to leave you two alone out front while I get Robert to bring the buggy around.”

  Charlotte suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and cocked her head. “Do you hear that?”

  Heather bumped into her mother’s backside. “Hear what? Why are you stopping? Didn’t Papa just tell you we should hurry away from Downing’s front door?”

  “No, wait. Just listen carefully. Don’t you hear a baby crying?”

  Heather stood still and listened. At last, she made out a faint whimper. She pointed in the direction of the sound.

  “It’s coming from the alley.”

  The three of them darted into the dark and narrow road, which smelled strongly of rotting oyster shells. About halfway down, they halted in their steps and looked around. A baby began crying again.

  “The sound is coming from over here,” Heather said as she moved behind a pile of refuse. She gasped. “Oh my word.”

  Charlotte and George rushed to her side, and spied a young, pretty Negro woman passed out and lying in the alley. A baby crawled through the nearby filth. Charlotte picked up the dirty child with ease and rocked it back and forth in her arms. Its whimpers became more hushed as she continued to soothe the child.

  “What in heaven’s name happened to this poor woman?” Heather exclaimed while she investigated the young lady. Charlotte walked around the woman while the baby rode on her hip. “Do you think she’s a runaway slave?” Heather whispered.

  Charlotte nodded in agreement. “You remember what they told us to watch for at our last anti-slavery meeting. Look at her feet and how they are so cut up. She must have walked quite some distance, and with a baby on her hip, too!”

  George took stock of the situation. “I’m going to guess she is the slave those men inside the restaurant are looking for. She almost got to Downing’s before she passed out.”

  Heather glanced at her parents. “Whatever shall we do?”

  George replied, “Well, we can’t leave her and the babe here in the alley for those men to find. And we can’t take her to Downing’s. Not tonight at least. It seems we have no option. We’ll have to take her home with us for the night. Heather, you take the child. Mother, stand guard at the end of the alley while Robert and I put this woman into the carriage.”

  The servant jumped down from the seat of the carriage as his name was called.

  Heather took the child, who began to fuss again. Although she didn’t yet possess her mother’s touch with children, she knew what would make a baby stop crying. The child was probably starving, and most definitely needed a clean diaper. She wrinkled her nose at the odor emanating from the baby’s backside. There was nothing that could be done about the diaper now, but she did have a piece of candy. Heather pulled a piece of soft peppermint from her reticule and chewed it until it was a paste. Then, she removed it from her mouth and placed it on her finger, allowing the child to suck on it.

  “It’s probably not the best thing for you, but it’s all I have. And, you’ll smell better.” The child calmed down as the sucking motion lulled it into quiet. Heather grazed her littlest finger down the baby’s smooth, dark cheek. Really, black children were no different from white ones. They all appreciated a full belly and soothing behavior from their caregivers. Heather kept out of sight of the end of the alley while her father and Robert loaded the runaway into their carriage. When the slave wa
s safely inside, Heather and the baby followed. George motioned for Charlotte to hurry into the carriage, and he closed the door behind them as they sped away from the restaurant.

  Chapter 2

  Heather glanced up at the second-story window on the backside of the brownstone and saw only darkness. She breathed out a small sigh of relief when she didn’t see Jasmine peering down at them. After all, Jasmine was not the boldly impassioned abolitionist that Heather and her parents were, even though they tried, at various times, to sway her opinion. The horses and the buggy slid quietly into the carriage house behind the home.

  Heather alighted from the vehicle, still holding the babe. The young woman was slowly coming to consciousness as George and Robert helped her from the carriage and into the small bunkroom that was Robert’s domain. She tried to scramble to her feet, but fell to her knees. Charlotte went to her side and helped her into the bed.

  “Please, miss, hand me my child,” the young woman implored of Heather. She looked fearful as she held out her hands for her baby.

  “You’re weak and exhausted. Please, lie down and I’ll give you your baby. Mother, we must get some food from the kitchen without having Jasmine wonder what we’re doing.”

  Robert went over to a dresser in the room and pulled out a dinner roll and an apple. He handed them to Heather before leaving the room to tend to the horses.

  “This will do for a start,” Heather replied.

  “I’ll run into the house and put some things together. I never could bring myself to give any of the baby clothes away, even though we don’t need them anymore,” Charlotte said as she scurried away.

  The woman watched Heather and George with fear in her eyes, but took the roll and apple. “Where am I?”

  George replied, “As you might have guessed from the horses and the scent of fresh manure, you’re in the carriage house of our home. You’re safe with my family. We’re abolitionists, and we found you passed out in an alley just outside Downing’s Restaurant. Since there were slave mongers inhabiting the place, we thought it best to bring you here for the night.”