Blessing (20 page)

He followed Blessing into a line of chairs. Not for the first time, he noted that among the women who supported abolition, Blessing stood out as the most imposing in manner and pleasing in looks. In fact, he felt an odd stirring of pride that she would ask him to be her escort. She was indeed an Original.

Gerard sat beside her and tried to look as though attending a radical meeting to listen to an African speaker were an everyday occurrence in his life. Remembering Conklin, the reporter who had pegged him attending the women’s rights convention, he looked around for any newspaper reporters in attendance. If he found one, he’d love to be quoted. He had to make sure his father found out what he was doing now. If he knew his father, the man was receiving Cincinnati papers in an attempt to track Gerard’s doings here.

Gerard glanced around and glimpsed a few reporters and, unexpectedly, some familiar faces, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Many gazed at him a bit longer than was polite. No doubt because he and the widow had come together. Another factor that would irk his father, who thought Quakers were outlandish and appalling.
Better and better.
Why hadn’t he thought of this ploy before? And it wasn’t as though he minded her company. Not at all.

The meeting began.

Gerard waited through the introductions and settled in, hoping he wouldn’t be unbearably bored.

James Bradley, a tall man near middle age wearing a sober suit, moved to the podium on the low platform. The white of his shirt gleamed against his dark skin. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming this evening. But before I begin my lecture, I would like to open myself to questions.”

Gerard was already impressed by the man’s presence and eloquence. What had he expected? Not a man who could speak in an educated way. Bradley had been introduced as a graduate of Ohio’s Oberlin College, but Gerard had thought that was mere honorary pretense. Evidently not. How had a former slave had the chance to go to college?

After an initial hesitation, one man rose. “I am a member of the American Colonization Society. I hear that you oppose our efforts. Why?”

Bradley gazed down. “I’m glad you brought that up. I think the basis of colonization is the flawed theory that people of white skin and people of black skin cannot live together in a free society. That simply is not true.”

“But slaves are different from whites,” the men said.

“Yes. They are enslaved, and whites are not.”

“That’s not what I meant. They are not able to take care of themselves in our modern civilization—”

“Slaves not only take care of themselves; they also take care of their white owners. I did not run away from my master. I bought my freedom through hard labor. How many slaves have you ever spoken to?”

The man raised both his hands in defeat and sat down.

Another rose swiftly. “I don’t want to witness the amalgamation of the races. If blacks are freed and sent back to Africa, this will be avoided.”

“Sir, my father was white,” Bradley replied. “The amalgamation of the races takes place daily on the plantations of the South.”

The audience gasped.

The back of Gerard’s neck prickled with shock. James Bradley was more audacious than the widow beside him.

“Bradley, there are ladies present,” the man blustered.

“And they understand, perhaps better than you can, the heavy burden their black sisters suffer. I was separated from my mother after birth and, while I was still a very small child, only saw her a few times before her death. I can only imagine her suffering.”

Silence ballooned through the hall. Gerard thought of his own mother and how he’d felt when his father had sent him away to school at only seven. He remembered his mother’s tears. And that was all inconsequential compared to what Bradley and his mother must have experienced. The old hurt roiled inside him. Of all things tonight, Gerard had not expected this man’s address to touch him personally.

Bradley glanced around as if seeking any more questions. But his responses had prepared his audience to listen. The man did not charm; he challenged.

Gerard grappled with Bradley’s words. If he’d ever given the plight of slaves and former slaves more than a passing thought before now, he couldn’t recall it.

“I will recount my life as a slave in hopes that it will
inspire you to do all you can to work toward abolition.” Bradley paused, gathering the attention of the crowd. Then he began his story. “A slaveholder bought me when I was only a child and took me up into Pendleton County, Kentucky. I suppose I stayed with him about six months. He sold me to a Mr. Bradley, by whose name I have ever since been called.

“This man was considered a wonderfully kind master, and it is true I was treated better than most of the slaves I knew. I never suffered for food and never was flogged with the whip, but oh, my soul! I was tormented with kicks and knocks more than I can tell.”

Listening in rapt silence, Gerard wondered how he could have worried this speaker would bore him.

Gerard sat beside Blessing in her open gig on the way home. His mind whirled with all he’d heard.

“Well, I hope the evening proved interesting for you,” Blessing said in her driest tone as they neared Mrs. Mather’s boardinghouse.

By moonlight, he was caught by the clash of opposites she presented. Though she wore a plain bonnet and a drab gray dress with a white collar and cuffs, moonlight gleamed on her pale complexion, glinted on the shine of her dark hair, and reflected in her large eyes. She was like a pearl displayed on common linsey-woolsey rather than on the dark velvet she deserved. It physically goaded him. “Why do you so often insist on wearing black or gray?”

“I’m a widow and a Quaker. Those are the colors we wear most.”

“If God created a rainbow, I don’t think he dislikes color. And I have seen you wear colors at parties, and very stylish gowns. Why do you consistently try to hide the fact that you are a beautiful woman?”

“Ramsay, this is not a conversation we should be having. Yes, you are right. I do like to be fashionable on occasion. I cannot deny it. Yet I am truly little concerned with whether people see me as beautiful or not.”

“Except when it suits your needs. You said that yourself. Smith leaves you alone because society delights in the wealthy and beautiful Quaker bluestocking.”

She sighed but with evident humor. “I cannot argue with my own sentiments. I have already admitted that. Thee is in a strange mood. What did thee think of James Bradley?”

Gerard was still too stirred and confused to provide a meaningful answer. “He gave me much to consider.”

“I’m glad.”

He glanced at her again. “Why did you invite me tonight?”

“I thought thee already knew the answer to that. James Bradley overcame being a slave. What is it that thee is fighting to overcome? What drives thee, Gerard Ramsay?”

Her prescience provoked him, but this was becoming so typical that he hardly reacted to it. They had arrived at his boardinghouse. He climbed down to the street and turned. “When you reveal your secret sin, I’ll reveal what drives me.” He watched in the scant light for her reaction. But she didn’t flinch. He hadn’t caught her at a vulnerable moment this time.

She stared back into his eyes without giving ground. “I suppose, then, that we will remain mysteries to each other for the rest of our lives.”

He bowed, thanked her for the interesting evening, and strolled toward the door. Guilt at needling her nudged him, but he ignored it. So what if his comment was uncalled for? She had no right to intrude without expecting the same in return.

B
LESSING’S CARRIAGE
was turning a corner, halfway home from leaving Gerard. A shaft of moonlight glinted on something small and bright on the carriage floor. Blessing reached down and lifted it into the scant light. A gold fob from a man’s watch chain. She recognized it immediately. Both Stoddard and Gerard wore these, bearing emblems from their university. Blessing tapped the roof. “Judson, we need to go back to Prudence Mather’s. Ramsay dropped something.”

Her driver assented and turned the carriage. In a few minutes, Blessing came within view of the boardinghouse’s front door. And was startled by what she witnessed.

A woman dressed in vivid red was forcing her way into Prudence’s front door. The lamp by the door lit the woman’s face. Recognition jolted through Blessing. She gasped.

“Don’t stop,” she urged her driver. “Keep going.”

Judson didn’t pause to ask questions, just drove on.

Blessing’s mind raced, running through all the possible reasons for that particular woman to show up here. Only one solution explained this, and it appalled her.

“Judson, drive me to the alleyway two streets behind Prudence Mather’s.”

As he drove, she folded in her white collar and cuffs, concealing them. When the carriage stopped, she stepped quietly out and murmured to Judson, “Wait here. Call no attention to thyself.”

Then, with her shawl covering her head and face, she moved surreptitiously through several backyards. A couple of dogs whined and came to watch her, but her gentle murmurs calmed them. She arrived at Prudence’s rear entrance. Since it was not yet locked for the night, she slipped inside. And instantly heard raised voices. She hurried toward them.

“I’m going to send for the watch,” Prudence was declaring.

Letting her eyes adjust to the light, Blessing paused in the doorway to the dining room. Prudence Mather, Gerard Ramsay, and the woman she’d recognized stood in a loose circle. “Prudence,” Blessing said, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

All swung to face her, wide-eyed.

Blessing continued, unperturbed. “Jewel, I know why thee is here.”

The woman’s expression mixed scorn with confusion. “How do you know my name?”

Blessing had never seen her up close, but Jewel was truly beautiful with black hair, dark eyes, and lovely olive skin.
Adorned lavishly in lace and wearing gold earrings, she was dressed in crimson satin at the height of style but with a plunging neckline beyond what bespoke of good taste. Yet her condition was obvious. She was with child. Again.

Concern caught in Blessing’s throat.

“Well?” Jewel stared at her, both daring and caution in her voice, her eyes.

Blessing didn’t bother to answer. “I have often wanted to speak to thee, but he keeps thee close.”

Prudence stood, openmouthed.

Ramsay stared at Blessing as if she were speaking Greek.

“You have?” Jewel challenged, propping a hand on her hip. “Why?” The word slashed.

“To find out—” Blessing swallowed, moistening her parched mouth—“if thee wanted to leave him.”

Jewel let out a sarcastic travesty of a chuckle. “Quaker, you beat all. And I don’t have any idea of who you’re talking about. The only man I have something against is this one.” She gestured toward Gerard. “He—”

Blessing gazed at the woman’s waistline. “Is he planning on killing this child too?”

Jewel’s face went sheet white, and she staggered back a step.

Gerard caught her arm instinctively.

“Prudence, please shut the curtains,” Blessing directed. “In case someone is watching. I must not be seen here tonight.”

The older Quakeress obeyed, still looking astounded. “What is this all about, Blessing?” she asked in a low, confused voice. “This . . .
woman
claims she is with child by Gerard Ramsay.”

“Ramsay, pull out a chair for the lady,” Blessing said, dealing with the pressing issue. “She is faint.”

He obeyed her with the same bemused expression as Prudence.

Blessing couldn’t waste time. “I warned thee, Ramsay, that Smith would try to trap, control thee. Thee believes thee has finished with him, but he is not done with thee. He wants thee thrown out of this house, thrown out of society, humiliated. He is now trying to use Jewel, his mistress, to accomplish this.”

Prudence gasped and pulled back as if confronted with a leper.

“How do you know?” Jewel whispered, sounding fearful.

“I know Smith,” Blessing said, feeling the pinch of old hurt, anger. “I’m familiar with his ways. Now we both know the child thee carries is not Ramsay’s but Smith’s. I’ve heard the rumors about the child four years ago—”